Port-Said
Egypt 1978
The gateway to the Mediterranean at last. We had been heading to "The Med" for seemingly years, and here we finally were after only 2 years. However, we had to sit here in Port Said (sä-ēd′), a bustling, dirty port, until our money arrived.
With only a few American Dollars left in Dad's bottom drawer, Mum and Dad became more anxious as the days passed. The trip through the Suez Canal had been uneventful, but now Franda II sat in the Port Fouad Marina desperately waiting for a wire transfer from New Zealand.
It was with heavy hearts that we learnt that Grandma had passed away over a month earlier, just before we left Port Sudan. A letter from Mum's sister, Margery, explained the funeral and celebration of Mona's life. Understandably, Mum was distraught. She had partly expected her mother's passing but did not get to say her final goodbyes.
Amongst the shopping and everyday chores, we girls managed to get through quite a bit of our schooling. Some days, we would spend many hours in the main saloon working on our books. We were both behind and were working hard to catch up.
While waiting for the money to arrive from NZ, Kathryn and I frequented the local markets to buy food. Enjoying this activity, but cautious. After experiencing several countries on the African continent, Kenya, Djibouti, Eritrea and Sudan, we knew that the price we paid was more than the local price. So we devised a little game, which allowed us to pay local prices. In Port Said, it was made easier by the stallholders advertising the cost of their goods. The price was written in Arabic on pieces of a torn-up cardboard carton and displayed with the fruit or Veg. I could read these numbers fluently, having recently learnt my Arabic numerals while moping in the back of a taxi from Suez to Cairo.
Picking up the item, one girl would innocently ask in English and sign language what the price was. The stallholder would hold up the appropriate number of fingers, or the stallholders would show the correct notes. This price would invariably be at least twice the price displayed in Arabic on the sign.
While acting out the skit, many of the nearby stallholders watched tentatively. They may be wondering what price they could charge for their goods. The young foreigners would shake their heads, smile sweetly, point at the sign, and make as if to move off. There would be a period of silence, then raucous laughter from the other stallholders. The outwitted stallholder would then point at the price sign and nod. From then on, the girls had new "friends". If not completely honest, they held some respect for the foreigners and kept their "rip-off" at an acceptable level.
The sisters visited the market each day, buying just what was needed. Cash was very short, so we purchased the bare minimum. We did not know for how long our dwindling supply of cash had to last. No one knew when or even if the dollars would arrive from New Zealand.
The girls sussed out the stalls with the best fruit and the most "honest" stallholders. It was not so crucial for the day-to-day produce but would be necessary with the need to buy bulk. The girls always asked if there was fresher produce available. After days of this routine, Kathryn and I were only offered the best produce.
Another produce we would be buying in bulk was eggs. Eggs had their own necessary procedure. The seller held each egg up to a lamp before it was purchased, ensuring no growing embryo was inside. If there was, it joined the pile of unsalable eggs. In this way, most of the eggs purchased were edible, but we still checked every egg before using it. It had become a habit on Franda II not to trust that eggs were good. So, the cook would break the egg into a separate bowl before adding it to other ingredients or simply crack and smell it before adding it. The problem with this last method is if the egg is "off", it will sometimes be under pressure, dripping rotten egg into your other ingredients.....
I preferred making a small crack in the eggshell with the back of a knife; if it did not appear dark or stink straight away, I lifted the egg to my nose for a cautious sniff. If it only smelled of egg, I would empty the shell into a small bowl. If it looked OK, I'd add it to the other ingredients. And repeat. An egg can smell OK but contain a half-grown embryo. Not something you want in a cake or omelette! If it instantly stank when cracked, the cook places the egg in a bowl, carries it topside, and deposits it over the leeward side. Rotten egg is not a good smell at sea; it has the same effect as diesel and rotten potatoes, quickly making you feel very seasick.
The fresh bread shop produced terrific smells. We girls regularly purchased the bread from here, generally as little oval buns or, on occasion, a loaf. Often dark brown, small lumps in the bread had Mum say, "Probably mice poo", with her sense of humour. One day, while slicing the loaf, Dad cut into a well-cooked mouse. Doug chucked that loaf over the side, but the family enjoyed the buns. Maybe Mum had been correct about the mouse poo?
It was a very anxious ten days for Mum and Dad, waiting for the money to arrive. An expensive telex to the bank in New Zealand requested New Zealand trace the money from their end. Dad's drawer was all but empty when the New Zealand bank helped trace the money. It had arrived in Port Said more than two weeks prior, but the Egyptian bank would not admit it or hand it over. The local bank may be keeping it to earn some interest with it. There was much relief on Franda II knowing that it was in the country. Dad now had to convince the bank to hand it over in US dollars.
Franda II's crew befriended two American chaps called Henry, so I called them Henry1 and Henry2. These two lads visited regularly and would often be on board at mealtime. In addition, the Henrys would often accompany us two sisters uptown as chaperones and help to carry the stores back. This was much appreciated by me. Lugging shopping home in a backpack or in plastic bags often had my muscles screaming.
The day finally arrived when Dad was able to convince the bank that they had HIS money and that they should hand it over.
Now, through the "friends" we had made, in the markets, Kathryn and I could go about stocking Franda for our long-awaited foray into the Med. With some negotiation, hand waving, and help from other locals, we ordered three trays (90 eggs) less than 24 hours old. More hand waving and support, and we knew it'd take a few days to organise and would cost a little more. We happily paid the slight price increase.
The eggs duly turned up, but who knows how old they were? The girls waited and watched patiently while the lady held every egg up to the light to check it. If both girls lost concentration, work would stop until the girls were ready to monitor the tedious progress as slowly, egg after egg was held and turned in front of the fluorescent light. The stallholder made sure the girls were happy with each and every egg. She did not want any complaints. Back on board, the crew set to sealing the eggs with Vaseline.
Kap and I negotiated strongly with our newfound friends in the markets, ensuring we would buy a lot of fresh veggies. Firstly, we bought a few bucket fulls of very ripe tomatoes, onion and apples. This was all lugged home in backpacks and buckets. Mum, Kap and I spent the next few days boiling and bottling tomato sauce and cooking tomatoes to bottle in sterilised jars. Then, on Dad's insistence, a 5kg sack of baby onions and a few litres of vinegar were purchased. The girls encouraged their father to help peel the onions as he would be eating the most.
Dad enjoyed a rum and coke in the evening. Some evenings, he scoped a handful of peanuts from an old milk powder tin. A plastic lid sealed the container and kept the peanuts fresh; reuse was pervasive aboard Franda II. Dad would happily munch his way through the handful of nuts while sipping his rum. Pickled onions with good cheddar cheese were a substitute if his favourite peanuts were unavailable.
Then back to the markets for Fresh produce potatoes, onions, cabbage, greens, orange and ripe tomatoes, lettuce, carrots, beans, whatever looked fresh and would keep. The crew needed tomatoes in their different stages of ripeness—some for today, some for later. The two sisters thought it remarkably that every country's vegetables looked and tasted the same. Yes, some areas have specific fruit and vegetables, but all still have the basic fruit and Veg.
I befriended a young Egyptian girl who frequented the marina with her father and spoke English well. Her father invited me to play squash at the local squash club. Although I enjoyed hitting the ball with my friend, neither played well. It is not a good game on a yacht. The Egyptian girl's father wanted me to take his daughter sailing, so he hired a small sailing dinghy for a few hours.
I was terrified of this responsibility. I was confident in my ability to sail, but the other girl had not been in a boat before and could not swim. So we both wore life jackets. It was a terrifying experience for me. Not only was I responsible for her, but I had never sailed a small dinghy close to huge ships, tugs and ferries running to and fro. Diesel or oil covered the water, and I definitely didn't want to swim in it. Because of the busy port and dirty water, I sailed carefully and did not seek to tip out as usual. Tipping over and righting a dinghy is an integral part of learning to sail, and gives the learner more confidence. Nevertheless, it was a fun sail, and she and her dad were pleased with the day.
Finally, after 3 weeks, Franda II was ready to leave Egypt and head for Israel. Only 124NM (231km) about 30 hrs away.
