Escape Velocity

As visa runs go this one looked easy peasy. To navigate the circuitous path through Malaysian bureaucracy we’ll hire a car and driver to take us to Mataram, the capital of Lombok, about an hour and a half away.

We expect to see more evidence of earthquake damage, then up into the mountains for alto buena vista photos, to the west side of the island, where we are promised mechanics and boat parts, some local sights and the Immigration Office where, with any luck at all, we can dress up pretty like we own the joint and renew our visas.

Our driver arrived first thing in the morning and in company with the crew of Erie Spirit we were on our way.

“How is your family?”

“They’re ok, thank god.”

“And your house?”

“Finished.” It’s getting to be more than I can take.

Leaving Medana Bay we found more damage but in a more or less random hit or miss fashion.

In the mountains the only signs of the earthquakes were hastily patched road surfaces to bridge the gap where the roadway no longer matched the level of where it was before the quake. Disconcerting, but nowhere near the devastation of the quake zone.

Mark found a sympathetic mechanic who puzzled out how to repair the problem with his in-mast furler system.

This huge mosque had only slight damage, or is it just a maintenance problem?

Our driver found another temple featuring the ever popular Island Temple in a Large Lake motif.

Of course this would have been even nicer if they hadn’t followed us around asking for more money.

Turns out that before one enters the Immigration building of visa renewal, the guards insist on proper respectable traditional clothing.

The guards would not take no for an answer. Personally I feel that I haven’t got the legs for this kind of look anymore but what the hell. They insisted. I think of it as a when-in-Rome kind of thing. 

All things considered the visa renewal went surprisingly smoothly.

The last stop on the way back home was a deli rumored to have blue cheese, unheard of in Indonesia, and our driver knew right away which place we were talking about. We were impressed right off the bat but as I wandered over to the deli counter, I bent over and could not believe my disbelieving eyes. I know it’s impossible but that looks like apple pie.

“Is that apple pie?”

“Why yes, that’s apple pie.”

“You couldn’t make it á la mode could you?”

“Why yes, we make all our ice cream right in house!”

I tell you, dear Escapees, it was a religious experience. I even think the second piece was better than the first.

You know how the way back home always seems to go quicker? This outing was no exception, tempered by what we knew was waiting for us back in Medana Bay, that feeling of impotence in the face of an overwhelming task while aware of the privilege of knowing we can sail away from this seemingly impossible situation.

As soon as we get back we’ll pitch in again at the school build. Kimi and Trevor and the rest of the core crew continue to put in long days and are starting to look the worse for wear. I don’t know how they do it.

While many of us were feeling daunted by the rebuilding task facing the earthquake victims, there are no-nonsense coiled springs in the rally fleet who leapt into action almost as soon as their feet hit dry land. By the time Jack and I arrived in Lombok, Kimi and Trevor of Slow Flight and a core team of other movers and shakers saw that while the big relief entities had most primary and secondary students studying again in makeshift classrooms, the kindergarten children and their parents were left out with no where to go. In no time they decided to build a temporary schoolhouse for the area’s little ones and the effort was well underway when we arrived.

Cruisers with engineering and building experience put their heads together with local experts in native building techniques and in no time they had a design, got the site cleared, the perimeter laid out and materials ordered and delivered.

While Trevor coordinated the builders, Kimi guided the volunteers who showed up day after day wanting to pitch in.

The buzz of activity also spurred the surrounding community to make headway on their own daunting task of clearing the rubble from their homesites in preparation for rebuilding when relief funds become available. Streets and laneways that were impassable gradually got cleared and defined again. A daily walk to the building site was almost like watching time-lapse photography, so quick was the pace.

All of this comes at a price, of course, and Trevor and Kimi organized a fundraising night at the marina. Cruiser musicians provided the entertainment and all of the boats donated what they could to help pay for materials.

Many of us also lent tools to the effort, and there was a secondary call for donations of food, clothing, and personal care items for some of the more inaccessible villages that haven’t yet been reached by the big relief organizations. Every day we cruisers, aware of our privilege and bounty, brought bags and bags of canned goods, rice and other dry goods from our boats, along with clothes, diapers, and toilet items and whatever else we thought might help, like flashlights, batteries, rope, tarps, and so on. The donations piled up at the marina shelter, got sorted and organized, and eventually delivered via 4-wheel-drive vehicles to remote communities.

No matter what else was going on during the rally stop, work on the school continued all day, every day. The core building crew put in 10 and 12 hour days to finish what Kimi described as an “achievable goal.” To us older folks with worn out knees and aching backs it only seemed achievable by the younger among us. And boy did they work hard! Even the kids pitched in and while everyone put in what hours they could moving debris piles, clearing pathways, sorting bamboo poles and whatever else we could, the bulk of the work was done by the strong backs and nimble hands of youth. They were a force of nature, driven by a desire to leave the place better for having been there.

The kids and moms started to gather at the site as soon as a space was cleared for them and I think their presence was a constant inspiration to the weary builders.

With a profound sense of foreboding we stepped ashore in Medana Bay, Lombok. Evidence of earthquake stress waves were everywhere but I guess I expected much worse. Of course the marina is gone except for the small floating dock we’d just tied up to, but there were decent temporary structures that will make do. There were reports from the other cruisers that it’s pretty bad in town, a short hot walk from the marina, and that’s where we’re heading. Survival tents are a clue of what’s ahead. 

As we walked, the closer to the town we got, the scope of the devastation got worse. Pretty bad hardly describes what has happened here.

A once thriving market place was almost erased.

It seems that many families are either afraid to live in their houses or their houses are rubble.

In every interaction the dialog is the same.

“How is your family?”

“They are ok, thank god.”

“And your house?”

“Finished.”

At first we thought great, the reconstruction is going really well. Then it dawned on us. “Finished” means gone, obliterated. 

People told us the initial disaster response from domestic and foreign aid agencies was quick and comprehensive with shelter, food, water, and medical assistance, but moving the rubble out of the way just so you can walk is a monumental, overwhelming task. I saw an old woman frozen in place, shoulders slumped, head hanging down, holding a small piece of concrete in the middle of a head-high pile of rubble, seemingly unable to decide what to do with it. The government has promised relief funds for rebuilding but, well you know, you apply and then you wait for the wheels of bureaucracy to turn. The people we talked to aren’t holding their breath.

The concrete block masonry construction techniques are pretty good in a cyclone but just don’t fare well in an earthquake.

We feel so inadequate and helpless with total devastation all around us. What can we do in just a few days?

Back in early August when we arrived in Bandneira we heard the news that Lombok, one of our scheduled rally stops, and an island described in guidebooks as “like Bali used to be,” had suffered an earthquake. We combed the news for details and asked our organizers if we would still make the stop, figuring an island struggling for basic needs didn’t need 42 foreign yachts showing up expecting a party.

A week later the same island was hit with another, bigger, 7.0 earthquake causing hundreds of deaths and heavy destruction. For weeks, wave after wave of aftershocks continue to rock the island and we asked daily if it was wise to descend on a devastated community. “We’ll let you know,” we were told, again and again.

As we monitored the situation the fleet carried on to Buton, to Flores, to Labuanbajo and Komodo. Three weeks after the largest aftershock we were assured that yes, we will still go to Lombok. In fact, we were told, the hosts begged the rally not to cancel. They were knocked down, they told our organizers, “but we can still dance.”

After Komodo we had a few hundred miles to go to Lombok, a coastal journey complicated by the usual fishing nets, unmarked floating FADS, and squid boats, plus adverse currents and less-than-ideal anchorages. Jack was still recovering from his infection and the after effects of antibiotics so we intended to take it easy to the extent we could and daysail it.

For some of the journey we sailed in the company of Lane and Kay on Mai Tai. The weather, if not the wind, cooperated for the most part and we had pleasant days and quiet nights.

The anchorages along Sambawa are deep with a very narrow shallow shelf close to shore. At night our challenge was to get over the shelf and our anchor dug in with enough chain to keep us there but not enough to swing too close to land in case the wind changed 180°. Most nights we managed. We monitored our position with our charts and also by noting where Mai Tai was relative to us.

One dark night I awoke for no discernible reason and went out on deck to appreciate the magnificent starry sky. I couldn’t see Mai Tai and became disoriented in the fun-house blackness. Were we turned around? Am I looking in the wrong place? I checked the chart. No, Mai Tai should be right over there, and yet I couldn’t see an anchor light. Odd, I thought, and I woke Jack.

“Mai Tai’s gone,” I said, and I pointed to where they should be. Jack checked our position, as I had, and we both wondered if they decided to weigh anchor and leave. It was a puzzle, but all was well aboard EV so we went back to bed.

When the sun rose we spotted Mai Tai about a quarter mile off shore, bobbing peacefully. I hailed them on the radio. “Did you move?” I asked, and after a pause Lane answered, “Yeah, we just noticed that.” Turns out the weight of their chain pulled the anchor off the narrow shelf and with chain and anchor dangling down in 200+ feet of water the heavy boat just drifted slowly away from land in the windless hours overnight. It was lucky that there were no obstacles to hit and aside from a bit of a scare, no harm no foul. But holy cow!

The next night we faced the very same anchoring conditions, and both boats took extra care to be well over the shelf with enough scope to hold but not enough to fall off into deep water. About 3am something in the motion of the boat woke me and once again out on deck I couldn’t see Mai Tai where I thought she should be. I checked our position on the chart and whoops! EV had drifted slowly away from land, chain and anchor dangling straight down and touching nothing.

In a repeat of the previous night I awoke Jack, but this time we pulled up the anchor and inched slowly back toward shore. It was inky black with near zero visibility, and with me at the helm Jack stood in the bow and called back instructions as he gently guided us toward the now visible anchor light of Mai Tai. Since they were still safely stuck to the shelf we wanted to get as close to them as we could without endangering either boat.

As you can see, charts of Indonesia don’t have much detail. We have to rely on satellite images when we can get them, EV’s depth sounders, and our own senses and experience. These two nights taught us that even in perfectly calm conditions it’s possible to drag or drift into unsafe territory and only the luck afforded to spunky fools by the sailing gods kept us from potential disaster.

We weren’t looking forward to crossing the Alas Strait to Lombok, known for a strong current and a southern inter-island venturi that kicks the seas up. We monitored the boats crossing ahead of us and marked the chart where they reported getting suddenly slammed with high winds, and also where the wind died just as suddenly. We plotted a course that would put the high wind on the best quarter and waited, as we usually do, for the most favorable conditions. Our care paid off and while it was still an uncomfortable couple of hours, we dropped anchor behind a low island in calm water for our last night underway on this journey.

The following day as we motorsailed along the northern coast of Lombok we trained the binoculars along the shore and began to see what we could only conclude was earthquake damage. Villages marked on the chart seemed to be completely missing, and it dawned on us that bright white mounds were in fact piles of rubble from collapsed buildings. We were passing the area most affected by the quake and I felt heavy in my heart.

The anchorage at Medana Bay is long and narrow, squeezed between two reefs extending well off shore. We dropped anchor toward the back of those who had already arrived, happy to be safely hooked but dreading what we would find when we landed.

Lombok, listening to a haunting call to prayer.

As we approach Rinca in the Komodo Islands the excitement aboard Escape Velocity began to ratchet up a notch or two. As the name suggests this island is their island so I’m guessing that it’ll be like visiting the monsters on their own turf. The other concern is that Loh Buaya Bay is either too deep or too shallow and has been known to get overcrowded. We timed our arrival after, we hoped, the day trippers would have already left for the day. It worked. We entered an essentially empty bay, working our way up the shallow starboard side as far away from the landing dock as possible. We should be well out of the fray all the way over here and there’s still time to dinghy into the office to arrange for a guide and a tour time early tomorrow. The pier is sized for large excursion boats which presents obstacles for cruisers in dinghies.

Wildlife is everywhere and I guess this guy is the official greeter.

The first time you see one of these monsters your blood freezes and the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention. I guess the shock was enhanced by the fact that we were just buying tickets and not at all prepared for a confrontation, but like I said, it’s their island. They wander, drooling poisonous saliva, wherever they like.

They’re big.

They’re awfully big, and my brain quickly snapped into survival mode starting with a quick physical assessment because, as the old adage says, you don’t have to be the fastest guy in the group, Yours Truly just needs to be a little faster than the slowest! Now I know I’m definitely not the fastest, even in the best of times and what speed my rickety knees haven’t taken away, recent heavy courses of antibiotics has. I’ll have to rely on experience and cunning. In short I’m dead meat.

We woke to a bay filled nuts to butts with every manner of excursion craft displaying only the most casual of anchoring etiquette or technique. Picking our way through the anchored hoards we dinghied to the landing but had no idea the actual park was a long hike away.

As we approached the park we noticed an uncommon variety of medium to large size animals just hanging out around the park entrance.

The island is a very dry, dusty sort of place so I suspect they must feed them, like a zoo. Turns out they’re food for the dragons. All they have to do is catch them, which apparently they’re good at.

These are the personalized staffs of the guides, used to keep the Komodo Dragons away from us slower folks. I would have preferred a ten kilo sledge!

After a slight but nasty altercation between three big males M. is wishing for some running room. Our guide saw the potential for trouble and moved between us and them with his little twig.

This guy has been bitten, gouged by a dragon and the poison is beginning to work so they can just take their time. I understand they like it kind of ripe anyhow.

The madness out in the harbor continued unabated, all evening long, until it was time to go and that’s when the fun began. I just kind of assumed that this craziness was normal and we were surrounded by professionals but I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I’ve never seen so many bone headed blunders. Anchors snagging rodes, paint trading, whole crews trying to fend off each other. I couldn’t watch! I grabbed our boat hook but just sat in the pilot chair like our guide trying to fend off a Komodo Dragon with a twig.

Somehow they missed us.

We weren’t exactly confident, as Jack neared the end of his course of antibiotics, that the infection would be completely gone in the next 24 hours. His knee is still warm and inflamed and his whole leg looks as swollen as before. So back to the hospital we went and we’re very glad we did.

Dr. #2 was much more engaged and (we think) knowledgeable. He agreed that even though Jack is improving the antibiotics he’s taking aren’t quite up to the task. We were resupplied with more powerful bug-killers and another round of pain meds, along with packets of electrolytes to get Jack’s system back on track. The doctor also looked at the X-ray and assured us that the infection isn’t in the bones so that worry is gone.

As the doctor was describing the meds he ordered and what they are for, one was designated “for hair balls.” Now this doctor has pretty good English and we both understood 95% of what he said, but this didn’t sound right.

“For hair balls?” I asked, hoping he’d correct me and we’d understand the purpose of the drug. I glanced at Jack, who was suppressing a laugh.

“Yes, hair balls,” he repeated, as clear as a bell.

I nodded. Jack shrugged.

“Ok.” Good to know.

Reminds me of this scene from the movie “Best Friends.”ł

Today was a long day for Jack, even with a car and driver to run us to the hospital, the immigration office, the supermarket and traditional market. We’ll take tomorrow off and I’ll park Jack in the cockpit again with a soft cushion under his leg and a good book. We hope to be able to move on by the end of the week, but only if we’re sure there’s no danger of a relapse.

Dragons await.

Labuan Bajo, Flores, Indonesia

First let me thank everyone who sent good wishes to Jack. It means so much to us, believe me.

Jack has improved a lot in the past two days. After our initial Night of Hell the antibiotics started to work their magic and we think the fever is gone for good. Along with that Jack is back to his old talkative self but is understandably still weak and below par in energy. A couple of good nights’ sleep has helped but we think it will take a bit longer before he’s back to 100%. His knee is still swollen so obviously the infection isn’t quite kicked and we’ll be keeping an eye on that.

We can’t believe our good fortune that this emergency happened after we arrived in a town. For the previous week we’d been slowly making our way along the north coast of Flores Island, mostly alone and mostly stopping at quiet anchorages with no village nearby. On top of that, our phone and internet hotspot ran out of credit and we had no way to top them up until we got to a town. That meant our communications were limited to VHF radio and our Iridium devices, certainly enough to summon help if we needed it, but definitely limiting our options for immediate nearby assistance. Being in a crowded anchorage with tons of nearby help within hailing distance made all the difference.

Here’s how you know you’re not in Kansas anymore: At the hospital, the nurse gave me the rundown on the meds Jack would be getting and told us they would be sent up from the pharmacy shortly. I went to the front desk to pay our bill while we waited but the clerk told me I had to wait until the meds were actually delivered before she could take payment. I asked if I could use a credit card and she said yes.

When the meds arrived I went back to the desk to pay and found a man with an IV in his arm and an IV trolley beside him sitting behind the counter at the sole computer. I handed the clerk my credit card and she passed it to the man at the computer, who proceeded to generate our final bill and process my payment. He explained the procedure to the clerk at each step, and when he was finished he stood up, wheeled his IV trolley back across the hall to the examining room next to Jack’s and lay down on the exam table. I watched this mouth agape, then turned to the clerk.

“Is he a patient?” I asked. She looked up sheepishly.

“Yes,” she said, and that was all she was going to say about that. She handed me the final printout and receipt and we were free to go.

Most of the boats have left Labuanbajo for Komodo National Park, about 20 miles away. We aren’t going anywhere for a few days, and anyway I don’t think Jack is well enough yet to take the two hour walking tour we had planned at Komodo. We’ve applied for our visa extension and need to go into town tomorrow to complete the process and we hope we can start to plan our departure soon after that. We’d also like to get some diesel fuel because the unreliable wind in these parts means more motoring than normal and we don’t want to be caught out with no backup fuel. Our next scheduled rally destination is 200 miles west.

Today I have Jack parked in the cockpit with his leg up. I’m doing laundry and trying to get the boat cleaned up and back to normal. We hope to catch up with some posts about our great experience at Pasarwajo on Buton Island and share some wonderful photos now that we’re topped up and back online in the normal way.

Thanks again for hanging in with us and for all the good healing thoughts. They worked!

We have plenty to write about from the last two weeks and some great photos to share. But in the moment I want to tell you about how real life still happens even when you live on a boat, and how much we rely on our community of other cruisers and the people whose villages and towns we visit along the way.

Yesterday we motored about 16 miles to complete the lovely but long and mostly windless journey along the north shore of Flores Island. Several of our overnight anchorages were scheduled stops in previous years of the rally but this year none are on the itinerary. Even our next destination isn’t really a rally stop, but rather Labuanbajo, the tourism gateway to Komodo National Park, giving us a fairly generous break in the schedule so we can each plan our own way to explore and enjoy the UNESCO World Heritage site. Jack and I were really looking forward to meeting up with the other boats, restocking in a real supermarket, maybe eating out a couple of nights before we ventured to the land of the Komodo dragons.

We arrived at the anchorage about 10:30am and Jack lay down for a quick nap. Two hours later he was still sleeping in the cockpit, unusual for him, an experienced catnapper. We’d both been eager to get into town so I woke him, then woke him again a half hour later. He couldn’t seem to come fully to consciousness and as I pressed him to get up, it became clear he was foggy and not comprehending what I was saying. Then he tried to go to the bathroom and couldn’t get his legs under him and stumbled down the steps. My normally alert and surefooted husband was confused and unable to control his body. I was terrified.

It took some doing but I got him back into the cockpit but as I pressed him to tell me what was going on he remained unresponsive, unable to put words together. I waved our friend Mark over when I saw him pass by in his dinghy. “We have a problem,” I said. Mark came aboard and immediately saw the condition Jack was in. He asked if we have a blood pressure monitor. Of course, why didn’t I think of that? But our monitor is on its last legs and while it seemed to be working properly, the readout was illegible, even with fresh batteries.

Mark left to get his own monitor and came back a few minutes later with Craig from another boat, who brought a monitor and an oxygen sensor. Jack’s O2 level was fine but we couldn’t get a BP readout on Jack. And both Craig and Mark agreed that Jack needed to get to a medical professional ASAP. While Mark set about working on logistics, he and Craig suggested it might be worthwhile consulting Dr. Sandra on another boat. A few minutes later Sandra came aboard and proceeded to do a routine neurological evaluation. She didn’t think Jack had had a stroke, but of course couldn’t rule it out, and thought perhaps his symptoms were the result of an apparent high fever from a two-week-old injury to his knee that looked to be infected. She also urged us to get him to a hospital right away to be sure and to get the appropriate meds to treat it.

Once that decision was made our circle of sailor friends shifted into high gear. While I gathered passports, insurance info and cash, the others arranged transport from a local hotel, rallied more help to get Jack safely ashore in a dinghy and me ashore in another. Susan was designated our point person and communications link and came with us in the taxi.

Within about 20 minutes we arrived at the hospital and a nurse listened to the onset of symptoms and took Jack’s bp and pulse (both normal) and his temperature (high.) We had a bit of a wait before a doctor came and he was immediately concerned with the look of Jack’s knee and ordered both blood work and an X-ray. While we waited for those the nurse started an IV of saline, electrolytes and paracetamol for the fever.

An hour later the IV and air conditioning had brought down the fever to almost normal and Jack was once again able to respond to questions, although it was a while longer before he could recall his own birthdate.

Susan was good company, keeping us both distracted and entertained, as well as keeping the boater community back at the anchorage informed by phone about Jack’s condition. Eventually the doctor came back, and as far as I could discern from his excellent but accented English Jack’s infection has affected his knee bones and we’d be going home with a fistful of various meds to treat the infection, reduce the fever, alleviate the pain and support his immune system. Total cost for everything was 2,640,000 Rupiah, or about $185 US, well below our insurance deductible.

It was difficult to find a taxi to take the three of us back to the waterfront until an HR employee at the end of his shift offered his own car and driver to transport us. When we got back to the hotel, the manager who had arranged the original taxi and helped Jack to the car made sure we knew he was at our service for whatever we may need. We are so grateful to the complete strangers who stepped up without hesitation to help.

We realized Jack hadn’t eaten since breakfast, adding low blood sugar to his woes, so we quickly ordered food at the hotel bar, but three bites into his burger Jack developed violent hiccups that he couldn’t shake and we wrapped up our food and rallied the transport teams to get Jack and me home to Escape Velocity.

Back onboard Jack continued to hiccup for hours as we tried every remedy in the book. Finally they stopped but then his fever spiked again, higher than before. I was afraid I’d have to get him back to the hospital at 3 am. I spent about an hour sponging him down to cool him off and that brought the fever down, but then the hiccups started again. This went on all night until, completely exhausted, Jack finally fell asleep and the hiccups stopped.

This morning I waited as long as I could before waking him to eat a few bites so he could take the next round of meds. And wouldn’t you know, the hiccups came back. Curses!

It’s now 10:30am. The hiccups are gone again, at least for now. The doctor from the other boat just stopped by to check on Jack. She’s a rehab physician from the Netherlands and we know another Dutch rehab doctor, Monique, whom we met along with her neurologist husband Pieter in Panama back in 2014. Monique and Pieter were at Isabela in the Galapagos when we limped back after our dismasting and were part of the Schulz Cocooning Team that soothed and comforted us in those first weeks of emotional trauma. As fate would have it, they know each other! So twice in our sailing adventures Dutch rehab doctors came to our rescue. What are the odds? They are both special people.

Jack is asleep now. We’re hoping a few days of the antibiotics will show improvement and Jack is taking the doctors’ advice to rest and recuperate. I feel like we dodged what could have been a very serious bullet. My job now is to figure out how to repay the generosity and kindness of so many people who pitched in when we needed it most and continue to offer help. The world is truly a beautiful place.