INTRIGUES ON SHIPS
Instincts and
tendencies drive people towards certain human behaviours and reactions. They
exist before memory and learning develop and are integral characteristics of
our biological species. As cerebral anomalies from birth, they dominate and
determine various human behaviours for dealing with certain situations, through
the body’s neurons.
Instincts and
tendencies drive people towards certain human behaviours and reactions. They
exist before memory and learning develop and are integral characteristics of
our biological species. As cerebral anomalies from birth, they dominate and
determine various human behaviours for dealing with certain situations, through
the body’s neurons.
Therefore, all
passions, whether good or bad, are a result of ancient instincts that drive all
biological organisms and turn reaction to action. Unfortunately, people are
driven and directed many times by their animalistic instincts and act in a
harmful way towards others not only shamelessly, but with full knowledge that
they are causing pain and damage for the simple reason of getting a sick
pleasure out of it which they gleefully enjoy. These are evil and bored people
who have nothing interesting to do, people who look for entertainment in another
person’s pain. For their own personal reasons, all deriving from overpowering
bad instincts, these people enjoy human misery.
The first time I came
across such unpleasantness was in the army, when the older soldiers repressed
the younger ones by exercising extreme bullying. I encountered exactly the same
on sea-going ships when I was a new recruit in my youth. Solitary people
wallowing in the loneliness of endless voyages across the oceans, who
manufacture and create situations, undermine younger sailors, especially those
who’s appearance and demeanour make them appear weaker. This caused some groups
of foreign seamen to isolate themselves by hermetically closing themselves in
their cabins after their shift.
I was employed on the
ship “Eugenie” for some months. We would take on cargo from the port of Ras
Tanoura in Saudi Arabia and travel back mainly to European countries. This
voyage lasted a long time as the Suez Canal was closed and we had to sail
around Africa to reach or destination. I remember we needed about one month to
sail the Indian and Atlantic Oceans.
It was not just the
long voyage that forced us to find companionship in the sea and sky, but also
the fact that at Ras Tanoura we had to remain anchored without access to land
sometimes for a number of days.
Therefore, the lonely
hours of the sailors were long, and each sailor sought ways to pass the time,
ways to feel some enjoyment, sometimes with whatever means. Some worked
overtime, others read, some wrote. Many lost themselves in the giddy intoxication
of booze, others used substances that made them feel closer to God, narcotics
or even chemicals that changed the structure of their brains overstimulating
them and making them feel good.
Unfortunately,
sometimes people would resort to cruel and inhumane actions to entertain
themselves, and, maybe because they had some kind of sick mental disorder,
would come up with and create intrigues and conspiracies. They would devise
plans to trick their colleagues and create dangerous situations for them, just
so they could sit back and watch the consequences unfold and entertain their
boring solitude.
Under these
circumstances on this ship, and during a voyage lasting over two months, our
ship’s pump man, who had no work to do since his work was mainly during our
stay in ports, organised a whole plan of underhanded action against me, and
cunningly tried to implement it.
The pump man is the
person in charge of pumping petrol from the ship’s tanks into other storage or
transportation units. He oversees the smooth operation of the system and is the
only one in charge of the piping, filters and valves which allow pumping from
the relevant tanks. He is also in charge of spare parts and deck machinery
directly connected with the transportation of liquid cargo. During the whole
voyage, his only job is to monitor the tanks and keep the cargo at a steady
temperature, to prevent it from solidifying, and be ready for pumping at the
next port. In such case, he asks the engine room to channel steam which he also
uses for other work on the machinery relevant to the ship’s tanks. When the
ship is in port however, he is on active duty at all times, day and night, as
he is needed for the completion of a smooth discharge and subsequent ballasting
of the tanks. This job requires great stamina during loading and discharge, but
also during the voyage, as during the voyage he remains idle and has to
withstand the boredom of not being fully active since he has no duties to carry
out.
The pump man was
twice my age and seemed serious and heavy going, a modest man of few words. The
whole crew showed him respect. Even the officers, the captain and second
officer, were polite when issuing his orders. Whatever he said was properly
justified, documented and very polite. In a few words, he was a man of good
standing and personality. I respected and admired him, and he reciprocated. In
the varied mix of people and nationalities of tough sailors that formed the
crew, where most had crude and cruel, sometimes even indifferent, manners of
behaviour, the pump man stood out like a good teacher who was loved by his
pupils.
We met daily in the cafeteria and chatted. He
was a simple man and very approachable, a man you could trust. As time passed,
we spoke about a variety of things. I said a lot about the situation in Cyprus
as only a little time had passed since the Turkish invasion of the island, and
as this tragedy was still fresh, it was an interesting subject for all.
I told him about the
situation before the invasion, about EOKA B’ and the followers of Makarios, the
violence and murders between both factions, about the tragic events that took
place on the long-suffering island and that the entire Greek population was
embroiled in the battle between the two men. We even spoke about the previous
situation and the epic struggle of the first EOKA when the people, with the
youth in the forefront, young boys in their teenage years, rose and fought a
great struggle and managed to overthrow the British colonialists, without fear
of torture and death.
He was very
interested to learn about Cyprus and I was happy to talk to him about Cyprus
historical and prehistorical times.
When two people are
in contact for a length of time, and when a lot of things are said during
endless conversations, some of these things are deep secrets that would not
have been revealed under other circumstances. So, I revealed to him some things
in which I was involved during those difficult times in Cyprus, when brother
turned against brother, and when discord had nested and flourished in the souls
and hearts of the people because of the propaganda relating to the clash
between the two men, Archbishop Makarios and Grivas Dighenis.
Being very young, I
trusted and considered the pump man my friend and a person who cared about me.
When someone is away from home and especially in a tanker where life is harsh
and difficult and sailors form pseudo-friendships as we are cursed with loving
the sea and not loving each other, I was relieved and pleased to have the pump
man as my friend, brother, father. It was a great joy to feel that there was a
person to whom I could confide about my loneliness, nostalgia, fears, to feel I
had someone to lean on for both happy times and times of sorrow.
During our long
conversations and analyses, he gave me advice, but he also caused me to wonder
about various things, behaviours, and mainly the consequences of our actions.
Our conversations were mainly about my activities during the period of discord
in Cyprus. Discussions which, in hindsight, I realized were aimed at artfully
impregnating my brain with the idea that the English were involved in this
discord and that they very successfully applied the “divide and conquer”
principle, that they were heinous conquerors and oppressors of weak people.
Thus, he slowly filled my young soul with hatred against them.
The wireless operator
of the ship was British. He was large, blue-eyed and blonde and had short curly
hair. He was ugly and unlikeable, he reminded me of English officers behind
desks, coldly issuing harsh orders, he reminded me of the ugly torturers of the
EOKA fighters who, without wearing masks and with faces immune to the suffering
of their victims, tortured young lads, sometimes even to death. With a little
encouragement from my friend the pump man, my soul slowly-slowly filled with
dislike and hatred for the “disgusting” wireless operator.
The wireless operator
had no contact with anyone, he remained alone, closed in his narrow room with
his machinery for company, listening on a 24-hour basis to various messages,
unknown voices and languages, messages from other ships and coastal stations
with nobody to relieve him as there was no second wireless operator. He would
come down to the mess and take his food into his cabin. He seldomly greeted
anyone and, whenever we came across each other in the narrow passageways of the
ship, we both felt a mutual aversion. This went on for many days and, as time
passed, I understood that our mutual hatred grew and was becoming
dangerous.
Surely this situation
was worrying, and I naturally discussed it with my friend, the pump man. He
reassured me and told me that it was natural for this to be happening as the
British never got over their defeat from the Cypriots but assured me not to
worry because they were friends, and he would have a word with him.
Time passed and every time we met, I realized
he looked at me with a wild look on his face, a look that I took as that of
someone who wanted to attack me.
My friend the pump
man advised me to be careful because, no matter how many times he spoke to the
wireless operator, he was adamant and wicked, fixated like a psychopath, had
taken the whole thing as a matter of patriotic pride, and was determined to
harm me.
This story lasted a
long time. When I later considered matters, the pump man had a lot of comings
and goings between us, pretended to both that he was a friend, and created not
only hatred and dislike between us but also fear that one was out to harm the
other.
One day he called me
and told me to be twice as vigilant because he realised that the wireless
operator was a schizophrenic and was driven to madness by the hatred he had for
me. From what he was saying, he concluded that he was planning to ambush me
within the upcoming dark nights and throw me into the sea. I asked him what I
should do, should I go to the captain? But he answered that aboard a ship there
are no laws to protect me like those on land and that the captain would
probably consider it a joke. Being gullible, I believed him because he was a
veteran and I considered him to be my friend.
Things had come to a
head. I thought of going to the captain but, by the time he ordered an enquiry,
the bad deed would probably be done. I decided that I needed to act first. I
should implement on him the plan he had for me. I knew that every night he
would descend to the small kitchenette and fill a plate with cheese, salami and
bread and take them up to his cabin to eat as he hardly slept during the day
and night. In order to reach the small kitchenette, he descended from a higher
deck where his cabin was situated, via external stairs.
I would lay in wait
under the stairs that night and, using a large wrench taken from the engine
room, I would strike him on the head and push him into the sea where he would
be lost forever.
This thought
terrified me, but I had no more time, the fear inside me for my life was
intense, a living hell. It had reached a point where I had become a desperate
man, determined to carry out my plan in the belief that it was a case of him or
me.
I had finished my
16:00-20:00 shift in the engine room, showered and made myself a frape coffee.
As I did every day during long, endless voyages, until my next shift, I lounged
on the couch in my cabin and either read a novel or played my beloved guitar,
entertaining myself and my loneliness.
That day, with my
frape in hand, I sat on the couch thinking of the difficult decision I had
taken and had to carry out. Filled with difficult thoughts I absentmindedly
stared at the floor and then at the ceiling. My head was spinning and felt
ready to explode as I tried to convince my brain to accept the big decision I
had reached. Time was passing but I could not relax. To the contrary, I was
getting agitated. It was a very difficult decision and I was deeply troubled. I
thought about it, then thought about it again in an attempt to find another
solution, but my mind was blocked and in despair.
At some stage, I
heard a noise and lifted my head to see the wireless operator standing at my
open door. I was startled and afraid and instinctively I jumped to my feet and
immediately grabbed the wrench I had hung on my wall a few days ago just in
case it was needed. I was ready to attack.
As I stood expecting
him to attack me, I saw him suddenly fall to his knees crying pitifully, asking
me why I wanted to kill him. Totally taken aback from this turn of events, I
immediately realised that all was a nasty game played by the pump man for fun,
to amuse himself in this way and satisfy his miserable and callous instincts.
-
“Cypriot” said the
wireless operator, in a shaky voice, “I’m an Irishman and I love Cypriots
because we face the same struggles against the British. I never meant you any
harm, why do you want to harm me?”
It immediately dawned
on me. This was a misunderstanding created by the pump man who lied to each one
of us in order to make us believe that there was an issue between us. As we
both considered him a friend, we gave credibility and believed everything he
said.
Realising the nasty
and underhanded game played against us by the pump man without us having a
clue, and now that everything had cleared, I felt relief and joy, but also
great anger against him.
I invited the
wireless operator to sit, we started talking and became friends. We explained
everything to each other and started thinking how to get back at the pump man
who caused us to live for days under fear for our lives.
Yes, we would
certainly get back at him. An eye for an eye, especially now that we were two
against one. We would let him stew in his own juice for a long time, knowing
and fearing that we were definitely going to punish him. It was about time that
he lived through a fear similar to the one he managed to plant into our hearts.
And, when least expected and when we thought the time was right, we would get
him back.
A SHOW OF STRENGTH
Lifting the body over
the bar in an upright position with arms stretched downwards for support is a
very difficult exercise and one to be achieved only after a lot of practice.
This is a very difficult position to maintain and, apart from practice, the
athlete is also required to have a lot of physical strength. I watched a new
officer cadet called Makis, if I remember correctly, doing this exercise on the
ship and observed many trying to imitate him, without success. At first glance,
the exercise seems easy as it looks like an exercise of simply swinging with
technique, however, it requires great muscular power and a lot of practice in
order to perfect it.
The new cadet was
about 35 years old, with rough features and a well-built body, yet he had a
kind and gentle demeanour. He formed friendships with the deck crew and almost
every day they sat in the corridor outside his cabin and drank whisky until
they collapsed. It was their fun and their way out of the interminable
loneliness of the ship. He associated mostly with a well-built sailor who said
he was a professional weightlifter.
He looked a little
stupid, but his body was so solidly built, we called him “The Wall”. Just like
the Chios islanders would always walk in pairs during the Ottoman occupation,
these two muscle-bound strongmen were always together. They formed a powerful
unit and using the hot and dry air on the deck over the engine room caused by
the steam-producing boilers as an excuse, they walked around half naked,
exposing their huge muscles, in a blatant attempt at showing off.
As the new officer
cadet and I were colleagues, our cabins were close. Despite this, we didn’t
form any particular friendship and he kept his distance. When we frequently met
in the engine room, he would hang off a thick rail and execute difficult single
bar exercises, wanting in this way to show off his strength and power. I
interpreted these moves as his way of giving me the message that he was the
sailor’s friend and would go against me in case I ever crossed the sailor
again. A few weeks previously, I had words with his friend the sailor, and that
offended him. This was the reason why the cadet held a grudge against me.
In the engine room of
the ship there was an L-shaped rail with a ¾ inch diameter. It was next to the
console with the control indicators. It started from the deck floor and ended
at the base of the evaporator, forming a perfect single bar. This is where I
exercised for hours and managed to become very good at pull-ups, having started
my regime from the beginning of my commission on this ship and practicing
during my night shifts and while everyone was asleep. However, at first, I
could not manage this new exercise. Because of our non-verbal conflict however,
I needed to succeed. Fortunately, I had not tried it in front of others, so I
was the only one who knew my weakness. I felt I definitely needed to achieve
this exercise because I knew that there is respect between adversaries when one
acknowledges the value of the other. I believed that in this way, managing to
execute this difficult exercise, I would prevent the two of them from trying
anything against me in the future, due to my previous argument with the
sailor.
Showing one’s
strength sometimes acts like a form of defence and prevents bullying, but most
times it is a sick characteristic of the bullies themselves. Though “bully” was
initially synonymous with a strong man admired by everyone, the meaning of the
word lost favour and now symbolised a “lad” who had no respect for anything.
Bullies are a particular type of person, they are the protagonists of
situations and don’t limit themselves to exhibiting their strength, they also
exercise a psychological tyranny of terror and, through systematic and
unprovoked oppression or even use of force lead their victims, that is to say,
the ones who cannot react, into a stressful situation of fear that destroys
them psychologically. The ultimate aim of the bully is retaining control,
sometimes for the sole purpose of feeling powerful and confident. As most
people want to be better than others, don’t have the way or the means to do so
and yet still want to stand out, consciously or subconsciously they try to
display their strengths and abilities. There are others however who still want
to excel yet are noble and socially educated, so they try to do so through
honourable competition, succeeding in this way to emerge as champions and prove
themselves. These are proud people who do not stoop down to the level of
appearing superior to the detriment of other, weaker, individuals. These are
the people who have evolved away from the instincts of greed for supremacy, who
have earned respect and admiration through their own worth and not through
power.
For the next few
weeks during my shift and after having gone through the standard inspection of
the engine and auxiliary machinery which did not take me longer than 30
minutes, I exercised hard on the single bar wanting to perfect this exercise.
In the beginning of my endeavours, my muscles became stiff and I was in a lot
of pain, but I stubbornly continued exercising without resting.
Wanting to make the
most from my routine, I exercised hard, and constantly pushed myself thinking
that obviously, the harder I exercised, the better I would become. I was not
interested in exercising properly, all I cared about was to complete the
specific difficult stunt. After a few days, and I remember this as if it was
yesterday, I managed to do the first pull-up. I was so happy, but during the
next days, sometimes I managed it and sometimes I didn’t. Unphased, I continued
without paying attention to the third officer who was on shift with me. The
poor guy wanted some company to pass the difficult hours of our night shift and
constantly tried to make conversation, but I took no notice and stubbornly
continued my practice.
I remember some weeks
had gone by, we were approaching Rotterdam, and I was almost ready. I was able
to carry out some pull-ups with great effort, and this would prove that I was
very good on the single bar…
I was on morning
shift 08.00-12.00 that day, and the whole crew, both from the engine room and
the deck, were on standby to dock. Our movements in the engine room were
standard, the first officer overseeing the engine’s operation and the stoker
either increasing or decreasing the heat in the boilers, depending on the
desired ship’s manoeuvres.
We were all in a good
mood because we were going ashore after a month at sea. Rotterdam, one of the
most multicultural cities in Europe was known not only for having the largest
port in the world but also for its drug and sex tourism, as both were legal. In
the streets of Katendrecht one could see people
strolling without a care in the world holding a spliff, and in shop windows,
where other Europeans would advertise their products, in Holland they
advertised prostitutes. They were inside the shop windows on display and the
passers-by could choose and purchase their services, which were offered behind
the windows, in specially designed areas.
So,
in the midst of joy and expectation and in the prevailing light-hearted
euphoria, all of us, mechanics, cleaners, oilers, cadets, electricians, third,
second and first engineers, were teasing each other. A rather short young oiler
named Mitsos, who came aboard at the last port, was waiting in earnest to go
ashore and buy a plastic doll from a sex-shop, others were eager to buy
substances and others to simply walk about and go to the Greek music taverns in
town, renowned among the sailors.
I
chose this day, while we were all gathered in the engine room around an open
space and, with a leap, I grabbed the single bar and started doing pull-ups. I
completed my display in a few minutes and with the corner of my eye I caught my
colleague watching me with surprise all over his face. Others applauded and
others teased me without realising the difficulty of the exercise, unlike
Makis, who understood only too well and watched me full of surprise.
Pleased,
and with the hope that he received my message, I leaned on the railings and
watched the turbine on the lower deck spinning fast and whistling loudly, then
gently, depending on the amount of steam the second engineer was allowing
through.
We
tied in port and those of us who were not on duty alighted and walked the long
dock into the busy city. It was evening and while waiting for the night so we could
go to the red-light district, we walked the town looking around or shopping,
even registering landmarks to find our way back to the suspicious places we
wanted to visit at night to unwind and relax.
The next day, in the
afternoon and after we had sailed, I sat in my cabin with the door opened
listening to the crazy bunch of seamen outside Makis’s cabin clinking glasses
and laughing at their own jokes.
In the meantime, I
had noticed a change in his stance towards me. He did not avoid me when meeting
me previously and even on shore we sat at a pub and exchanged a few sentences.
In other words, I had hit bull’s eye with what I had set out to achieve by
executing the difficult gymnastics on the single bar.
He called me to join
their group and have a glass with them, but I refused explaining I was not a
drinker. He invited me to stand outside Mitsos’s cabin after he came off shift,
to have a laugh when he inflated the doll he bought to use as a sex aid.
I liked the idea. In
any case Mitsos and I were friends and had great laughs together so I was sure
he wouldn’t mind.
So, Mitsos came off
shift and entered his cabin that was between mine and that of Makis. We
calculated the time he needed to begin his task and allowed it to pass, and all
of us gathered outside his cabin, taking turns to peep through the keyhole, and
listening to the sounds emanating from within. We heard him blowing hard and
inflating the doll. There was silence until he drew another breath and then, a
loud bang broke the silence. At first, we were startled and stood speechless
unable to understand what had happened. Then a sailor shouted:
-
“The
doll exploded!”,
and we all fell about
laughing.
Inside the cabin,
Mitsos started swearing and shouting, not because he was interrupted half way
through his sexual encounter, but because he was cheated and sold a faulty
doll.
IERA ODOS – THE SACRED ROAD TO ATHENS
The vessel “EUGENIE”
belonged to Stavros Niarchos company and was a seaworthy, 70,000-ton tanker. It
sailed the rough waters of the Atlantic without much rolling and pitching
because it had full a ballast and the ship sat low in the water and was
therefore not at the mercy of the waves and currents. I remember it was a heavy
winter and a few days before Christmas. We were travelling from the North
Atlantic to the South and then to the Indian Ocean with our destination being
the Persian Gulf to take on cargo. The Suez Canal had not opened yet, so we
were forced to sail around Africa. We unexpectedly received orders to sail to
the Skaramangas shipyards for minor repairs, mainly to paint the hull of the
ship, because the company had no charter for us at that time.
The crew comprised of
many races, but most members were Greeks, from Greece. On hearing that we were
heading for Greece and they would be able to spend the Christmas holiday with
their families, they were very happy and joyful. They welcomed the news with
excitement and cheered, their smiling faces beaming. In the afternoon, after
break, a big party was set up in the main dining room and, with captain’s
orders, the second officer took free drinks out of transit and the steward
served nuts and lots of goodies, adding to the joy and celebration. The booze
was plentiful, but happiness prevented people from getting drunk, everyone was
suddenly nostalgic to arrive home. The whole crew, officers, sailors, formed a
festive crowd, enjoyed themselves and rejoiced with thoughts of returning
home.
-
“Cheers!”
said the captain,
-
“Cheers”
answered the deckhand,
and they would clink
their glasses.
At some stage, a
third Engineer who was Cretan and called Minas, I still remember his name, a
polite man and an intellectual, got up and made a long toast. Among other things,
he said:
-
“Santa Claus brings
presents for the children at Christmas but this year he also brought a present
for us.”
Yes, I thought, a wonderful Christmas miracle
for all of us to enjoy. We feel wonderful and everything around us is
brilliant, because it is a great and wonderful thing for a seaman to wake up on
Christmas day in his home and with his family. It is a joy experienced mainly
by people who are forced to live away from their families, especially seamen
whose profession has them spending many festive seasons away from their loved
ones.
We were sailing with
the Atlantic Ocean at starboard and the Gibraltar Straits at port when we
received the message for our new destination. We turned to port and entered the
Mediterranean Sea, the largest enclosed sea in the world, contained by three
continents, Europe, Asia and Africa. We sailed the straits accompanied by
dolphins and seagulls. We passed Morocco, Algeria, Libya, Tunisia and finally
Malta, left them behind and entered the Ionian Sea.
The Skaramangas
shipyard is the largest and oldest modern shipyard facility in Greece and was
founded in 1958 by shipowner Stavros Niarchos, our employer, for the building
and maintenance of his ships but also for repairing the second-hand ships
purchased by his shipping company. It was close to Athens And Piraeus so our
access to both cities was easy.
We entered the
harbour of Skaramangas and we tied on the pier until one of the drydocks became
vacant for us to enter. Drydocks are big narrow tanks inside which large
vessels just fit, supported by big cranes. When the vessel enters, locks are
sealed, and the water is drained. Thus, the ship remains suspended and secured
so that engineers may work on its outer parts without water getting in their
way.
The whole crew
hurriedly donned their best clothes and rushed to go ashore and run to their
families, some close and others further away. The captain had arranged that
only a few necessary crew members were to return to the ship the next day, in
order to place it in the drydock. After this we would carry out a “blackout”
and abandon ship.
As we still needed to
carry out some maneuvers the next day in order to place the ship in drydock,
the engine room remained operational. Being a Cypriot with my home far away, I
was chosen to carry out the night shift together with a stoker. A sailor was
chosen the same way to watch the deck and bridge. The rest of the crew went
ashore with the families of some waiting for them at the bottom of the long
steps as they were informed and had come to welcome their loved ones.
The next morning the
captain returned with the second officer, the boatswain and the first and
second engineers. Under the guidance of the shipyard’s pilot and the assistance
of a tug and some light movements of the engine, we placed the ship in drydock.
We then begun to carry out a blackout, that is to say, turn off all machinery
and the power generator. The ship was now a dark, lifeless corpse, and we left
it there. We were going to visit the offices of the company on Miaoulis street
in Piraeus to be paid for our service. Those of us wishing to continue their
contract would be sent to other ships or could wait for completion of repairs
on the “EUGENIE” in order to continue their commission there.
Since nobody was
waiting for me, I was not in a hurry to leave. I wanted to watch the process of
draining the water from the drydock and see the ship on which I lived for
almost one year standing out of the water, in its full size and in all its
glory.
When the water
drained and the entire ship appeared, the sight of it was impressive and a
little daunting. Standing almost at its base and looking up its immense height,
the whole sight was awesome. A magnificent monster, more than 300 meters long
and about 10 meters high to deck level, and more up to bridge level.
I stood there quite a
while admiring it and watched the workers starting to use machinery of the latest
technology to inspect and work on the thick plates that spent years in salty
water and had started rusting and needing debridement and a few coats of
paint.
After a while I got
tired and went over to a little hill opposite and sat at a table outside one of
the shipyard canteens on a veranda and watched the huge shipyard under my feet
buzzing with life and the workers and engineers working like bees.
Midday passed,
afternoon was upon us, and I was still sitting there alone, with a wonderful
feeling of standing on sturdy dry land without being rocked by the movement of
the sea, sipping my fourth beer, with my mind a little dizzy from the brew,
gently travelling on thoughts of the future and what was meant to be.
I asked the
proprietor to call me a taxi and I headed to Piraeus. The “Voskopoula” was on a
street off Akti Miaouli, a few meters up and was a coffee shop frequented only
by seamen. It was the meeting place of all Cypriots working on ships and when I
was on shore, I always lounged there in the hope of meeting someone I knew, or,
at least, get some news about Cyprus as things on the unfortunate island after
the Turkish invasion were difficult.
It was dark and
people were walking fast, the locals wanting to leave the area before
nightfall, as it filled with foreigners and people of the night, with Troumba
street, the infamous area full of cabarets and shady pimps lurking around
corners looking for prey, being parallel to Akti Miaouli.
I entered
“Voskopoula” and had a look around but didn’t see anyone I knew. I sat at a
table and ordered a large cool mahallepi desert with sugar, rose cordial and
plenty of aromatic rosewater.
While enjoying this
tasty Cypriot sweet, I observed those around me. After such a long time the
Cypriot dialect echoed pleasantly in my ears, a sound so melodic and full of
poetic rhymes, a language historians claim is a unique ancient dialect still
alive today.
People were going in
and out and I just watched. I had all of God’s time, I was in no hurry. I saw
many different types going in and out, young boys and middle-aged men, some
well-dressed and others shabby, some smiling and others looking morose. Each having
a mix of feelings, each having his own set of problems, some were happy because
they were ashore, and others were sad because they were about to set sail on
long voyages. Tough faces, soft faces, faces sculpted by sun and salt, or pale
from the misty air of the engine room. I was observant and I enjoyed crowd
watching.
I sat like that for
quite a while when suddenly at the door I saw my uncle Nicholis, my father’s
youngest brother. Surprised, I called him, and he, knowing I was working on
ships, was not too surprised to see me. I was, however, because I didn’t know
he was abroad. He came and sat with me.
We sat and talked for
some time and we caught up. Our conversation was endless, and so were the
questions. He told me his news and I told him mine.
Due to the war, work
on the island was scarce. He was a good builder and his profession was well
sought after because the government was building housing for the refugees, the
pay, however, was very low. So, he decided to sail as a deckhand on a small
ship that smuggled cigarettes in the Mediterranean. This was a dangerous job
because, if caught, he would be thrown in jail for many years. He was a risk
taker however, so he took the risk. He
was tall, a fully trained army commando expert at body to body combat, with or
without weapons. During an occurrence on the ship when an Arab tried to stab
the captain, he got in the middle, grabbed the blade in his bare hand,
immobilized and arrested the dangerous criminal.
This type of ship
employed all sorts as a crew, any criminal and lawless persons were welcome.
Life was dangerous and many vanished in the deep sea without a trace.
The captain was a
hardened man, inhumane and cruel, and this behaviour exposed him to danger. He
immediately hired my uncle as his bodyguard and promoted him to first officer,
with a fat salary to match the position.
I envied his good
fortune because I had served for two years on Stavros Niarchos’ ships and I was
still a cadet. This company did not usually promote seamen who trained on the job
because they had their own shipping school that trained all levels of
expertise. So, hearing how easily Nicholis was promoted to officer, I decided
to ask the personnel manager of the company to promote me, otherwise I would
switch company.
The sky over Piraeus
was cloudy and dark without stars. Maybe it was getting ready to rain, but Akti
Miaouli and its side streets were brightly illuminated under the neon signs of the countless shops
and large streetlights on top of the electricity grid’s poles.
Nicholis and I left
Voskopoula coffeeshop and headed towards Pasalimani to visit one of his friends
who worked there. The plan was to meet him after work, and he was going to take
us to a nightclub on Iera Odos. He was a frequent patron and he bragged that we
were in for a good time.
Pasalimani, or, as it
is known otherwise, the port of Zea, was a cosmopolitan part of Piraeus. The
view towards the open sea takes the visitors on wonderful imaginary journeys.
The entire coastal zone of Pasalimani is taken over by restaurants, taverns,
cafeterias and all sorts of establishments where one can sit and enjoy Greek
and Mediterranean delicacies washing them down with choice Greek wines and
Ouzo, while enjoying the wonderful view of ships, yachts and sailboats tied at
the marina or sailing on the calm waters.
When we arrived, it
was late at night, but the little harbour was brightly lit and buzzing with
life. My uncle’s friend worked in a fast food joint which mainly sold roast
chickens and he delivered on a small motorbike. It was a tiny shop right on the
pier which barely held the roasting oven and just managed to cook and sell the
chickens. It also had two small tables on the pavement with two chairs each. It
was a one-way street and immediately after was the sea. In this idyllic
location and in order to pass the time until our friend got off work, we sat at
one of the tables and ordered a whole chicken, just plain chicken with no
sides, and a bottle of retsina. We ate and drank, talking and enjoying the
beautiful view of the port of Zea, the renowned Pasalimani. Time passed
pleasantly and I was very happy that after so long, I came across one of my
own, one of my relatives.
Iera Odos is the
oldest road in Greece, the national route that connected Athens with Northern
Greece and Epirus. It still exists to this day and is well known, especially
because of the antiquities found alongside it, but also for the best nightclubs
of Athens. At the time, the 70’s, there were many seedy places and joints set
up in prefabricated and makeshift structures, and Iera Odos was famous for
them.
The seedy nightclubs
known in Greece as “skyladika” existed during those decades but are no longer.
The golden age of this type of club has passed and the youth of today don’t
have first-hand knowledge of what a “skyladiko” represented in older days. This
one word described a nightclub where the customer could find whatever he wished
in terms of entertainment, female company, drugs, pleasure, enjoyment, joy.
It was late and my
new friend finished work. He washed a little and soaked his hair with oil to
made it shine. He had a thin moustache, just a line of hair on his upper lip,
and he was the spitting image of Clark Gable.
The taxi let us
outside a dark door with no sign. This was an indication that the joint was
frequented only by the people who knew about it. It was passed midnight and, as
the door opened, I saw a long room with empty walls and no decorations. It was
practically derelict. In the back, a band was playing a soulful song and the
bosses and staff were all sitting at one table. As soon as we entered, one of
them approached accompanied by one of the heavies and greeted us
wholeheartedly, as if he had known us for years. He obviously knew our new
friend however, because he greeted him by name. He arranged for us to sit in a
darkened corner and they served us graciously. Soon, the songstress of the
place came to greet us, and we invited her to sit at our table. We ordered a
large bottle of Johnny Walker whisky and filled our glasses. We were in the
mood to get drunk and intended to go off the rails.
I noticed my uncle’s
friend getting up and walking to the opposite wall, pushing a door that was not
visible in the semi-darkness and had no sign over it, like “toilet” for
instance. Despite this, I assumed he went to answer the call of nature. Time
passed and he did not return, so I realized that he had gone to get high.
My uncle was immersed
in a close conversation with the singer, so I was left alone to listen to the
music and observe the place.
As time passed, the
singer performed some songs from our table without getting up, while my uncle
Nicholis ordered a second bottle, plenty of flowers and a few bottles of
champagne…
At some stage the
entrance door opened and a girl with a beautiful body entered. She walked with
a limp as one of her legs was shorter than the other. She quickly walked to the
table where the boss was sitting, and they exchanged some words. She then
turned around and came to our table. I was not surprised because I understood
that she was one of the girls used by the establishment to encourage the
consumption of drinks, something like a shot girl. What surprised me however
was her bold move as soon as she sat next to me.
It was a move I
remember to this day exactly as it happened, as if it happened yesterday. Just
as she bent her body to sit on the chair next to me, she leaned towards me and
with a sudden movement revealed her breasts stuffing a nipple in my mouth.
Startled, I remained motionless, not knowing what to do. I remember the soft
skin of her breast, a plump breast, one of the most beautiful breasts I have
ever kissed in my life. It seemed magical, sweet tasting and soft. I was
mezmerised, spellbound, befuddled, I don’t know. What I do know however is that
I remained motionless with my face buried in her cleavage. I liked it and
responded to her touch, I thought that I was about to have a very good night.
Listening to the sad melody of the bouzouki and the bittersweet lyrics of the
song, with alcohol freely flowing while making out with the girl sitting next
to me, I didn’t care how much we spent. I didn’t care, my uncle having an
equally good time next to me didn’t care either, we had hit the jackpot and, as
far as we were concerned, they could take everything we had.
Time passed, and we
were still having a good time. The bill was increasing, and we gave no notice
to the fact that our friend was still missing.
-
“Leave him”, said my
uncle, “he must be lying somewhere inside, high on drugs”.
As time was passing,
the girls succeeded in making us spend more and more.
“This is the meaning
of a “skyladiko””, I thought, “Just a few customers, yet the bills are getting
higher and higher.”
At the same time
however, I was also thinking “what if our money is not enough, what will happen
to us in foreign country, inside a “skyladiko”?”
The police got us out
of the tight spot. In the early hours, members of the police force raided the
place and stood us all against the wall. We were all frightened, so nobody
protested, the customers, the musicians, the bosses, us, nobody. At the time,
the police force in Greece could do anything they wanted without being
accountable and without being under an obligation to justify their actions. The
arrested people as they liked and jailed them in holding cells for questioning.
A slight suspicion is all it took. They justified their actions by claiming
they wanted to reduce criminality that was on the rise and had reached great
heights. Many were arrested and tortured, some had even disappeared without a
trace. The circumstances prevailing at the time were chaotic, it was the time a
little before the handing over of power by the Junta to the politicians.
After we were
searched, we were led out into the yard and were ordered to get into the paddy
wagon parked outside. They had also dragged our friend out with us. He was
fully doped up and they laid him down on the pavement, unconscious.
-
“God help us, we are
going to suffer”, I thought.
I had heard stories about the behaviour of policemen
against prisoners and I was overwhelmed with dread.
My uncle Nickolis, however, was more cool-headed and asked
to speak to the officer in charge.
-
“I have a brother who
is an officer in the Cyprus Army” he said, “we are on your side, we are your
brothers and we support you and your government”.
I was happy to see
the officer give attention to my uncle, asking for his brother’s name.
-
“Kokos Tapakoudes,
he’s a second lieutenant”, he answered.
The officer in charge
walked away, holding a walkie-talkie to his ear. He soon returned and told us
that it was okay, we and our friend could leave.
They gathered all the
rest into the paddy-wagon, and we were left with our unconscious friend alone
and free, in the night.
The next day I went
to the company’s offices and asked for a promotion, otherwise, I explained, I
would leave to be employed by another company. The man in charge looked at my
file and after reading all the information about me, looked at me with
satisfaction.
-
“You have a good
record”, he said. “But, as you know, we have our own shipping school and our
policy is to only promote our cadets. In your case, I will make an exception.
If you are able to ship out immediately on the same ship which is leaving in
two-three days, I will recruit you with the rank of Junior Engineer”.
Junior Engineer means
exactly that, a junior engineer, it was the rank of a sub-officer who executed
the duties of third Engineer. Of course, I accepted with great pleasure because
the salary and overtimes would higher than previously but also because my ego
was greatly flattered. The company had its own school, but my promotion was something
I achieved by myself.
IN HOLLAND
The ship was ready to
sail, we just needed some more stores which we were to pick up on our way from
the St. Nicholas port in Crete.
In the evening, all engineers, with the first
engineer in charge, commenced the process of making the entire engine room
fully operational. We started the electricity generator, the auxiliary
machinery, the boilers, the evaporators and so on. In a few hours the whole
engine room was in full operation, supplying the entire ship with energy, water,
refrigeration, air conditioning. Everything was double-checked, and the engine
was on standby.
At dawn, we sailed
for our next long voyage with the engines on “slow”.
We arrived at St.
Nicholas and anchored to take on board our remaining stores. The day started
out with clouds and rain. The pump man, boatswain and a few sailors were on the
deck preparing the winch to load while waiting for the launch, and they were
commenting on the rain falling gently, washing the deck. Next to them, the
second in command was listening while focusing his attention on the launch.
While the ship was
anchored the rest of the seamen were watching the traffic in the port and the
town of St. Nicholas from under the covered stern deck. Those of us not on
shift stood looking at the beautiful small Cretan cove of St. Nicholas, a tiny
but renowned fishing village.
-
“It’s a lovely
morning”, I heard the officer say, “we will get our stores, then head to Kharg
Island and take on cargo for Holland. These are our instructions for the next
charter, the wireless operator just got a telegram”.
Usually, we took on
cargo without knowing our precise destination and received our instructions
from the company’s office after the ship was loaded and ready to sail for any
long voyage. This time we knew our destination before even sailing for the
Persian Gulf.
-
“There’s the launch,
it’s coming” said the engine cleaner standing next to me and pointed at a large
boat coming towards us.
As it approached, it
reduced speed, stuck to our side and put its engine on idle. At the stern of
the launch stood a man looking towards us in earnest.
-
“He looks like my
friend Antoneskos”, I thought to myself.
I stood watching him,
surprised by the amazing resemblance, I was sure it wasn’t him since my
childhood friend of twenty years, my lifelong friend, my friend from the same
village and the same neighbourhood should not be here. I knew he was studying
in Piraeus. I got the impression that the man was also looking at me but did
not seem to recognize me. When he eventually came on board and stood next to
me, it was with great surprise that yes! I did recognize my childhood friend
Antoneskos! It was him, he had requested and got a job in the same company and
the same ship as me. He wanted to surprise me, so he arrived without warning.
My surprise was big, but my joy was even bigger, so I welcomed him with great
pleasure. I helped him with his luggage and then took him to the captain’s
office to report for duty.
So, in foreign lands
and on the high seas I came across my friend and this made me very happy. I
would have a companion and friend among the unknown members of the crew whose
hearts usually turned hard and morose because people on tankers became cold and
distant due to their great loneliness. In such surroundings and circumstances,
it is a big deal to have a true friend because true friendship is a huge help
when trying to deal with your troubles. Friends share joys and sorrows and in
difficult times, one becomes the support of the other. Now, among Greek and
sailors from foreign countries and different cultures, my friend and I will be
companions and support each other.
From St. Nicholas in
Crete, we sailed the tranquil waters of the Mediterranean Sea and through the
straits of Gibraltar we entered the angry seas of the Atlantic. We sailed
around Africa and after many, many days, we arrived at Kharg Island and tied at
a platform to load our cargo. The return trip was not to be the same, it would
be shorter. We would sail up the Red Sea and through the Suez Canal which, at
long last, had been cleared of mines and sailing it was now allowed.
In a few days we were
sailing through the Suez Canal and those of us not on duty were out on the deck
observing the route.
The Suez Canal is one
of the most important shipping routes of the planet. It is a manmade waterway,
the largest in the world, traversing the Suez Isthmus and connecting the
Mediterranean Sea with the Red Sea. It starts from Port Said in Egypt on the
Mediterranean, the city of Ismailia known as the city of beauty and Charm is
approximately half way and it ends at the port of Suez, in the Gulf of the Red
Sea.
We sailed the
Mediterranean and passed through the Gibraltar straits. We then sailed along the
coast of Portugal, through the Bay of Biscay and along the coast of France, and
entered the English Channel where, somewhere near Dover, we anchored and
discharged part of our cargo via a pipeline. Rotterdam was close, and in a few
hours, we had arrived and tied at the large Dutch port.
At the time, Holland
was a country at the centre of the worldwide news reports because it was trying
a groundbreaking system in relation to the use of drugs. The government imposed
a policy which received a lot of criticism and was widely discussed. We had
also read about these measures in the Greek newspapers, and within the narrow
and strict confines of Greek and Cypriot culture, we thought it was very
advanced and unheard of.
Because Rotterdam was
a large port through which millions of people and containers from all over the
world passed and which, after the war, became one of the biggest centres for
drug trafficking and drug use, Holland, being a very tolerant country, prepared
to listen to new ideas, applied a very daring drug policy. Having in mind to
fight crime that emanated from drug smuggling, the government allowed the sale
of small amounts of hashish in the renowned “coffee shops” of Rotterdam and
other Dutch towns, under strict regulation. This policy led to the increase of
criminality around these coffee shops and the street of Katendrecht was
flooded by drug addicts and everything that accompanies them. It acquired the
international reputation of being a bad neighbourhood. Bars and cafeterias
opened and filled with every Tom, Dick and Harry. Suspicious contraband was
rife, while pimps watched their prostitutes and dealers watched their runners
from afar. In other areas, small groups of people would get together possibly
planning small or big illegal operations or even robberies.
It was the afternoon,
my shift in the engine room had finished, and with my mate Antoneskos, we
descended the long stairs of the ship and headed towards the city of Rotterdam
which was located near the harbour, the first thing on our minds being the
procurement of prostitutes.
The town seemed
deserted on that day, with very few people and cars on the roads. Many of the
shop signs were written in Greek. Restaurants, bars, places where one could
hear the “rebetika” songs, and many other establishments. It was like every
other port, Greece was everywhere. The Greek immigrants made their presence
felt and were the owners of many shops where seamen liked to shop. The Greek
merchant fleet was, at that time, the largest in the world, and Greeks crowded
ever port.
It was the 70’s and
nowhere, apart from America and maybe Germany, were there shop windows
advertising live prostitutes. They were lined up, showing their wares and
beckoning to passersby to enter and enjoy special treatments. Touts stood
outside trying to describe their saucy offerings. As we were accustomed from
previous ports, we listened to them and continued walking and looking for
something of interest to us.
We entered a cinema
advertising porn and inside, instead of seats, there were individual stands
covered in hard carpet, where viewers could sit or lie and watch the risqué
films. The service was excellent, beautiful girls made sure that each customer
was having a good time, and there were also bouncers standing discretely in
dark corners with their arms crossed, watching. They were the guards who made
sure everything was as it should, without diversions from the predetermined
allowed game.
In the semi-dark
cinema screening porn, the viewers could not touch the partially dressed girls.
Only the girls could touch the viewers wherever they wished, only the girls had
the initiative. That was how the game was played and everything depended on
viewers’ tips and stamina.
So, we passed the day
and the night found us walking in Katendrecht, the infamous neighbourhood with its renowned
“coffeeshops” and usual suspects. It was like a festival buzzing with people,
hippies with large bellbottomed trousers, just like fashion required, walking
lazily up and down, sweeping the streets as they passed. In the distance, where
Katendrecht street ended, there was a sign
over a door which read “Hellas Bar”. We entered and were joyfully greeted by
the Greek clientele and proprietors who eagerly asked for news of the
motherland.
We
had a good time there, with cold drinks, loud music and beautiful girls to keep
us company and look after us. We spent the rest of the night there until our
shift approached and we had to return to the ship. Satisfied, we started
walking back. For days on end we would have a lot to say and discuss about our
experiences in Katendrecht, during our breaks and during
long nights, sitting under the cover on the stern deck, on long voyages over
oceans and seas.
THE IDIOT
The deck crew
includes the captain, the officers, the sub-officers (boatswain and pump man),
sailors and cadets. The engine crew includes the officers, oilers, stokers and
cleaners. Finally, the general services crew includes the wireless operator,
the steward, cook, cabin boys and waiters.
In the “EUGENIE”, the
cabins of mechanics and sailors were on the first deck above the engine. The
deck level housed the kitchen and dining rooms, the next held the officers’
cabins and above those were the cabins of the captain, the first officer and
the wireless operator.
In the beginning, as
a trainee engineer, I slept in a cabin on the same level as the mechanics and
lower crew, but after my promotion, I moved on the officers’ level.
There were two dining
rooms for our meals, one on either side of the ship. They were big and roomy so
that the crew could use them during their free time as cafeterias. The
starboard dining room was used by the officers, and the port dining room by
everyone else. Out of habit from my past as a trainee engineer and now as a
junior engineer, I used both dining rooms, but I mostly used the second one
because my childhood friend Antoneskos was a trainee engineer on this trip and
he ate there.
It was a roomy area
with air conditioning and a huge radio that would catch plenty of frequencies
in the middle of the sea, so we always had it turned on to keep us company
during our break.
The boatswain, pump
man and the pump man’s assistant, a huge sailor with a square muscular body and
a broken nose with a stupid face to match and who was also on our last crew,
were buddies and played backgammon for hours.
The boatswain was
short and red-skinned, with blue eyes and a permanent frown and I wondered how
he managed to satisfy the criteria for his position. The pump man looked like
an innocent peasant, a bit rough around the edges, but kind. Finally, the
sailor looked like a modern-day strongman. He epitomized the phenomenon of
super human strength reflected in a powerful body with obvious muscle power. As
a young man he worked in construction and got involved with the sport of
weightlifting by going to the gym every night after he got off work. He trained
as a weightlifter during his formative years, so the constant training and
exercise sculpted his body to resemble that of a strong-man.
They were all good
players and from playing with each other for countless hours, their game became
stereotypical. The square sailor was a good-enough player, but not as good as
his companions who were more masterful. The rest of us were very interested in
watching their games.
I, and I believe most
of us, considered the square sailor as a personality that fell somewhere
between a simple mind and an idiot, or even a moron. His square body and his
physical strength compelled everyone to be friendly towards him and, with most
crew members treating him in this manner, he became addicted to power and
strength, and, as most people would, enjoyed it.
No idiot considers
himself stupid and, while intelligent people realise their mistakes and try to
correct them, idiots do not, and that results in them thinking and acting even
more stupidly. When things do not turn out as they expect, they become angry
and react with aggression. A skillful and intelligent person may find a way to
advise and make them think more intelligently. Of course, a truly intelligent
person when realizing just how deep their stupidity really lies, tries to avoid
them because, at the end of the day, idiots only succeed in bringing
destruction to those around them, and, indeed, without a morsel of regret. I
didn’t like him because he was an imbecile, but I maintained a distance to
avoid making him angry but also to avoid having any dealings with him.
My friend Andreas
once made a comment on a mistake during a game and he took it wrongly, they had
a bad argument and the rest of us had a very difficult task preventing him from
harming Andreas. The comments were not a good reason for a fight, but the
sailor’s idiocy made a big deal out of nothing.
In my opinion, a
person is considered an idiot when he creates problems out of nothing thus
becoming, at times, dangerous. The only way to avoid these consequences is to
actually avoid these people, just as I was doing.
The sailor’s stupidity and arrogance didn’t
allow him to consider the incident resolved then and there. He began a campaign
of bullying and intimidation against my friend. He kept staring at him
provocatively and making comments with innuendos, and this happened on a daily
basis. As the days passed, instead of the situation being defused, it became
more volatile, and the results were not going to be good. The tension increased
and my friend was hanging on tender hooks, while, from his position of being
the one with the mightier physical power, the sailor enjoyed the terrible
bullying he exercised upon a person with a weaker physique…
This was a situation
that needed to end. Even though we believed that two of us against one of him
would still be difficult, we felt that, nevertheless, we needed to act because
the situation was worsening as the days passed.
When I was present,
he avoided provoking, possibly thinking that it would not be easy fighting two
persons, so we agreed to challenge him and act fast before he had the time to
react. We needed to act in a way that showed him to be at fault so that we
would not suffer any consequences because we planned to cause him a lot of
injury in order to give him the message that we meant business and that he
should stop acting like a bully.
One stormy day while
the crew were in their cabins, we cornered him in the cafeteria. Andreas went
in first and, upon seeing the sailor’s sarcastic smile, he responded with
profanities against his mother. The sailor was momentarily taken aback and
could not believe what he was hearing. He sprang out of his chair and, feeling
cocky against my friend, moved aggressively towards him.
I immediately jumped
in from behind and with a strong hold immobilised his arms behind him. Andreas
was ready with two knuckle dusters we had made for this purpose in the engine
room and started punching him with rage. He hit him with such unforeseen hatred
and would not stop. All the frustration he felt had turned into hatred and was
now manifesting itself through his fists with immense fury. He struck him
relentlessly, his arms moving like pistons.
The sailor did not
manage to withstand the attack and fell unconscious into my arms. My friend
however could not stop because he had suffered abuse every day for so long and
his suppressed anger was now spilling over.
I let go of the
sailor and tried to hold my friend back, but he had so much hatred inside him,
he grabbed a heavy chair and smashed it over the unconscious body of the
sailor. Seeing him motionless on the floor, with no reaction and no movement,
he stopped and looked at him, great satisfaction spreading over his face.
We stood for a while
looking at him until he started moving and groaning slightly. We looked out
into the corridor and did not see anyone. Nobody saw us, nobody heard a thing.
So, we decided to leave him lying there and flee, thinking that he would be too
embarrassed to name us as his attackers.
We went to my cabin
feeling pleased with the result and started talking and planning what to say in
case the sailor eventually reported us. We were not particularly worried
because the captain, at most, would impose a fine upon us, or expel us from the
ship.
Hours passed, the
whole night passed, and the next morning arrived. At lunch time, we went to the
dining room to eat, but the sailor was nowhere to be seen. As soon as we
entered, all eyes were upon us because everybody had realized what happened and
nobody believed the sailor’s story about falling down some steps.
At the next port, the
sailor left the ship.
MISSISSIPPI, NEW ORLEANS
I visited New Orleans
many times in 1977. Because of the Greek sailors visiting its large port at the
time, there were many Greek shops there, even a bouzoukia night club.
It is a beautiful
area with a mild climate, a lot of greenery and many sights. Visitors fall in
love with the town as soon as they set eyes on it and wish they could live
there.
New Orleans is built
on the banks of the Mississippi, the largest river of the country. Its waters
flow for many kilometres until reaching the sea, and the wild natural beauty
with old trees, colourful birds, beavers and endless swamps constitute a huge
wetland ecosystem with hundreds of living creatures, alligators, reptiles and
other amphibians.
Winter is mild and
does not last long, while the summers are hot and rainy.
It is inhabited by
people of many races with most of the population being of African descent. It
was established as a French colony during the sixteenth century and its name
was linked to the slave trade, riverboats and Jazz. The city of New Orleans
boasts the famous French Market, the museum with the famous wax sculptures of
famous persons and the Tremé Quarter where Jazz was born and developed, as well
as the famous French Quarter and Bourbon Street, the former overflowing with
jazz music culture and the latter overrun by houses of ill repute and
criminality everywhere, out in the streets and behind bright lights where
suspicious night activities coexist with carnal lust and other pleasures.
Bourbon Street, a
name linked with prostitution and drugs. The street with countless
establishments hosting hell and paradise, prostitution and exploitation,
suspicious transactions between the lawless and big contraband behind closed
doors. A busy street with vibrant and strong colours in the shop windows,
yellows, greens and purples.
The passersby were
mostly of mixed race, walking to the rhythm of jazz. The women were big, juicy
and jaunty, showing off their big breasts and provocative behinds. They were
negro, mixed race and creole, all beautiful and desirable with a firm step that
made their firm buttocks wobble. I thought that, maybe, Paradise was right
here, on the famous and infamous Bourbon street.
The shipowner Stavros
Niarchos named the tanker that carried us to New Orleans “EUGENIE”, after his
wife Eugenia. To reach our destination we sailed up the Mississippi, the
largest river of North America, considered in the past as the boundary of the “Wild
West” flowing down the country over a distance of six thousand kilometres and
washing into the bay of Mexico, the largest ocean lagoon in the world. The call
it the “great river” and is an essential transportation artery as it is
navigable almost to its source. It is a wild river that man never managed to
tame. When it floods, its waters cover vast territories. Various projects
aiming to harness its great force always fail before its power.
On the ship I worked
as a junior engineer and carried out the duties of third engineer. These were
duties assigned to me by the first engineer because the third engineer of the
ship had no idea about engines. Because of this, I carried out my shifts with
him, as his equal. I was a good mechanic and deserved my promotion. The third
engineer was a man from the island of Chios and he was recruited without having
a diploma or knowledge of engineering but simply because he was a relative of
the chief engineer of the company fleet.
He was from Chios and
came along with his cousin, a stoker. They were inseparable, they stayed
together in the same cabin, they ate together, they worked their shifts
together exactly like the old story that says, 'peaple fron Chios always walk in twos', and all this, in breach of the regulations
because on ships, there needs to be a separation between officers and
lower-ranking crew. The third engineer was an officer while the stoker was just
crew. In ships there are separate dining and recreation areas for lower-ranking
crew and higher-ranking crew in order to keep the necessary distance which is
conducive for discipline. In their case however, an exception was made, by
orders that came from the higher echelons of the company.
The Islanders of Chios
were mainly fishermen, a low-income profession as it depended not only on hard
and dangerous work but also on the weather which usually renders the sea rough
and wild. Therefore, they considered seamen as rich and aristocratic because
they received a steady salary, and all wished to become seamen. Those who
could, were recruited on ships.
One will therefore
find many Chios islanders on ships in agreement with the well-known saying of
“people from Chios always walk in twos”. The Chios people acquired this habit
for mutual support, and even though it is misunderstood by many, it actually
shows their intelligence. This support for each other became well known
because, during the Ottoman occupation, a Turk in Chios had the right to ask a
Greek on the street to lift him on his back and carry him. The Chios islanders
could not accept this and, instead, loaded one of their own on their back to
carry, so they would not be forced to carry a Turk.
The two men from
Chios were friendly and very likeable. Their extreme kindness was etched on
their faces and no bad words ever came out of their lips. For days and nights,
we carried out endless shifts together, and we really got on well. Many years
passed since then and they are of the few that I can still remember their names.
Mikes and Stamatis. Mikes was simple and thickset, just like the strong and
thick trunk of an oak and his strong arms could bend steel. Stamatis was slight
and pretended to be devious without being very clever in reality, but this
bothered nobody, as they all saw his kind side. In any case, nobody would dare
mess with him as his cousin was always next to him, standing like a brick wall.
As our shifts
coincided, so did our shore leaves. Before our first shore leave in New
Orleans, we mainly talked about the sinful Bourbon street we were going to
visit and how it was filled with shops stocking all types of pornographic
material, sexual services for sale and all kinds of sex toys and accessories,
enhancing substances and all sorts of secrets on straight or gay carnal
pleasure. This is where all the clubs were located and where the famous naked
go-go girls danced seductively and sensually, lifting the libido of the
audience.
In those days, it was
fashionable to have go-go girls in bars. These were beautiful young girls who
danced practically naked on poles and stages a little higher than the
customers, for their enjoyment, but the customers were not allowed to touch
them. They danced slow routines, alone and held the male population spellbound.
They only wore a tiny string and that was the only place where customers were
allowed to touch in order to hang dollars as payment for the wonderful shows
they were staging. Any other contact was strictly prohibited and for this
reason there was discreet surveillance of every customer’s movements by
bouncers, for the prevention of any unauthorized contact. God help anyone who
dared breach the bar code. Immediately, countless bodyguards would appear out
of nowhere and savagely beat the culprit.
We reached the
infamous street and followed the call of one of the many touts outside the
bars, into an empty bar. A very beautiful and petite dancer was gyrating on the
stage and beckoned us to enter. As soon as her eyes fell on the stoker, she
stood right above him, possibly considering that he was an easy target being so
slight and kind-looking.
Stamatis was wearing
a brand-new suit that matched his tie. He was freshly shaven and bathed and was
doused in fragrant cologne. He looked like a well-paid merchant marine officer
and, in comparison, wearing our plain clothes, we looked like his subordinates.
So, the little dancer
zeroed on the well-paid, in her opinion, officer, considering him to be a good
customer. She probably thought that she was going to get good tips from him.
We sat near the stage
and enjoyed the view she offered with her dancing, but she was gyrating over
the stoker as if we did not exist, and she was not going to leave him.
The minutes ticked
away, but the stoker did not offer any tips. The girl, annoyed, was getting
closer to him, thrusting her pelvis into his face and making him heave with
desire. We thought, and, most probably, so did the stripper, that he was doing
this to pretend that he is a tough little man but would pay eventually. He had
placed his cigarettes and gold lighter on the stage and had devoted himself
completely on watching the beautiful girl. By now, she was dancing angrily,
indicating to him that he should hang money on the thin thread that held her
flimsy underwear together. In the end, having received no response, she stopped
dancing and vociferously demanded her payment. The damned stoker, however,
proved to be stingy and refused so the young girl grabbed his gold lighter and
moved away from us. He was about to go after her, but I realized that we were
going to get into trouble and grabbed him by the arm to stop him. I explained
to him that if we made a fuss in these places of ill repute abroad, we would
disappear without a trace. The stoker was very upset because his lighter was
gold and therefore expensive and he said that he was going to make a fuss to
get it back, even if this meant he was going to get a beating.
Seeing that we were
not going to get out of this situation, I told him to wait and give me a chance
to think. I came up with the idea of grabbing the lighter from her when she
least expected us to do so, since she was alone in the little room, and
immediately running away fast so that the bouncers of the club standing behind
the screens could not catch us.
It was a difficult
moment, we had taken a big decision, but we were forced to do it because the
stoker was going to make a fuss anyway. I knew that we were in a dangerous
place, protected by tough and dangerous people of the criminal world who would
surely rush out upon hearing the slightest noise.
So, we put our plan
to action, the stoker grabbed the lighter from the girl’s hands, and we ran. I
still have flashbacks of their terrifying voices swearing while chasing
us.
I don’t know how many
there were, nobody looked back, but we ran at great speed. I am sure that, had
we run the 100 metre sprint that night, we would have come first.
Our sprint led us to
a narrow street, and we saw the boatswain of the ship standing in a lit doorway
with some sailors. We stopped there feeling that in the company of our own
people, we would not be in danger. And, indeed, we realised that we were no
longer chased, and our hearts went back to their normal beat.
The bright door was the entrance to a Greek
night club. Above the door there was a
sign that read “ATHENS, Greek Bouzoukia”. We went up the stairs and found all
the crew that was not on shift sitting and having fun the Greek way, with the
sound of bouzouki music playing Angelopoulos’s song “I am a refugee”.
THE GLOW OF THE SEA
We usually took cargo
on board from the Persian Gulf and mainly from Ras Tanura. During one of our
voyages to this port, we remained anchored for two months. It was difficult
times for tankers and, until the ship owning companies entered into the next
charter, a lot of ships remained anchored and waiting outside ports. It was the
first and only time we needed to wait for so long.
After loading our
cargo, we set sail for Cape Town, a voyage that was quite long and lasted one
month because the ship was using economy speed. In Ras Tanura we usually loaded
from platforms that were at a distance from the shore. That long voyage,
together with remaining anchored and waiting, kept us at sea for three
continuous months. In my nautical career, this was the longest period I stayed
on a ship without setting foot on dry land.
The long voyages, as
well as the short time tankers were required to stay in port because
discharging the cargo did not take too long, drove many seamen to choose cargo
or passenger ships for work.
Tankers are dangerous
ships because they carry liquid cargoes that are unstable. They sink and break
in two more easily. The seamen working on these ships are men with stamina who
have courage and patience and who can withstand a life full of danger and
seclusion. A voyage on a tanker is an unsurpassable magical experience because
the seaman lives between the sky and the sea for a long period of time, alone,
with only his solitude and lonely thoughts as company, surrounded by the elements
of nature.
During this voyage,
we came across many storms, large and small. Others against us and others
behind us, pushing us along and, depending on their force, we either sailed
along or against them. One storm during that voyage really caused us trouble
and frightened us more than any other. The waves were immense, they grabbed the
large ship and lifted it onto their crest as if it was a walnut shell ready to
break. As it rose, it creaked with a horrendous slow sound, like from another
world. All of us on shifts in the engine room and the helm, but the others
also, who were on standby and alert, counted the seconds it took the wave to
lift us holding our breath. We breathed out only when we felt that we were
descending the wave. We brought to the forefront of our thoughts what we should
do in case the ship broke. Would we have time to get out onto the deck and
lower the lifeboats? Would the pull of the ship drag us down or would we have
time to distance ourselves?
There were also
lovely days, and nights with a full moon and calm seas. On those nights, when
the sea is like a milk pond and the moon is full, we would get the chance while
on deck to be carried away, reminisce and feel nostalgic.
One night, I finished
my shift in the engine room and came out of the hot steam onto the deck to
breathe some fresh air. It was a night with no stars and no moon, the sky was
dark and ink black, yet the sea glowed white and reflective, a vast expanse up
to where the eye could see, a strange and inexplicable phenomenon, a beautiful
and enigmatic spectacle that caused awe and admiration. Charmed and ecstatic, I
stood and observed the limitless phosphorescent glow without being able to
explain it. I was looking at it trying to understand it but had no answer.
We had a
sixty-year-old stoker on board, from the island of Chios. He had retired and
went ashore to live out his remaining days but could not tolerate the
tranquility of land life and went back on the ships without even thinking of
his advanced age.
Anyone talking with
older people always learns new things. However, he didn’t have an explanation
for the phosphorescent glow of the sea, all he knew was the story of the Fairy
from an island, who surfaces from the bottom of the sea and walks on the waves
to meet her beloved Captain Giorkis. This is when the phenomenon occurs, the
sea goes white and the rest of creation falls into darkness….
It is a story, an old
myth, about a worker in the shipyard who didn’t like building caiques but
instead loved sailing in them. He longed for adventures on the waves. He loved
the sea, it was as if the sirens and sea fairies beckoned him. So, he sailed,
the years passed and, as a Captain, he travelled distant and dangerous seas.
The Fairy cove however, was his haven, his anchorage, his home. He travelled
extensively, voyages were his whole life, but he always returned to his haven.
There, he had his home and his wife who always waited for him scanning the
horizon. She adored him greatly, he was her captain, and she was his beautiful
wife. Everyone was envious of the Captain and his good luck…
But, one damned and
dark night, Giorkis’ caique disappeared during a storm. The villagers waited
for days to hear news but there was only silence. Those who knew about travels
and sailing could not offer any hope for survival. His wife did not want to
believe it and mourned him for many days, until she could no longer withstand
the loss and lost her mind. Nobody could find her at home, she was always at
the seaside gazing and waiting, and crying unconsolably. Until one day she
heard the Fairies of the sea calling her. With her hair loose and a smile on
her face she walked into the waves and was lost in the depths of the sea in
search of her beloved Captain. Since then, every time there is no moon or
stars, the sky is dark and the sea is calm, a white majestic phosphorescent
light emanates from the deep, and some people see the Fairy walking on the
waves and disappearing beneath them.
This is a story of
local Greek folklore, a legend, maybe a true story, showing the pain of those
left behind.
During this voyage, I
saw beautiful places, I saw the sea full of little boats with fishermen far
from the shore, fishing in deep waters with no engines on their boats, with
just a small sail on a small mast. I saw
the sea brimming with fish, I saw her change colours, I saw her phosphorescent
in the night and emerald in the morning, I saw her take the best of all the
colours of the rainbow, an exquisite and beautiful vision, a balsam to our
souls and our hearts.
I saw many more
things, but the stories of the old stoker filled my mind and took over my
thoughts, casting a shadow over the beauty of the new seas as they caressed the
feet of the tall ridges on the shores far away on the horizon.
