By Any Means: His Brand New Adventure From Wicklow to Wollongong (38 page)

After the dancing and the grog, I’d checked our day’s route against the map, and realised that what I had thought were lakes was actually the sea. Pontianak is on the western coast and we’d come out of the mouth of the Kapuas then headed south-east through the delta before joining the Pawan River at Ketapang. When you think about that kind of distance and the amount of changes in transportation, you really begin to understand the obstacles UNICEF has to overcome. Although they account for such a high percentage of the world’s vaccines, they also provide other important everyday stuff like soap, toothpaste and toothbrushes for the kids. On top of that there are the staff, the training and the transport costs themselves: with the price of oil going up and up it’s getting more and more expensive to get the vaccines to these outlying villages. It took all yesterday to get here and without UNICEF or organisations like them, these places would be forgotten and people would die.

Anton told me that tetanus is a major problem in Borneo. ‘In the developed world we don’t even think about it,’ he said. ‘You cut yourself and get a jab, that’s how it is. But here if you cut yourself, you can’t just run to the doctor.’

‘And it kills people?’

‘Seventy per cent of people who contract tetanus die if they’ve not had the inoculation. And it’s a horrible death that takes time - your whole body spasms. Imagine cramp in your leg, how much that hurts: then imagine that feeling compounded through your whole body for twenty-four hours before you lose consciousness. I’ve seen babies completely rigid before they finally died. Out here it’s very, very serious. That’s why we’re having such a big push.’

We immunised the children in the community hall not just for tetanus, but also diphtheria, polio and measles. There was a problem, though, because up until three months ago they didn’t have the budget to produce record cards for everyone so it was up to the mothers to remember what their babies had had and when.

The doctor, who visited about once a month, was there, and a nurse. The staff separated the hall into different areas: one where the stuff like soap and toothpaste was distributed; one for the doctor, one for the nurse; and then the area where the children and their mothers were vaccinated. This was UNICEF in action, coping with all the logistical problems and making sure children in the remotest, most inaccessible places still had access to life-saving immunisation. Having travelled so far it was particularly humbling and I can’t emphasise enough how important it is that their work continues. They need all our help to make sure it does.

The mothers were young and proud, conscious of doing all they could for their babies just as any mother would. It struck me how calm they were: there was a lot of laughter yet there was also perfect order. The women waited patiently with the kids, no one was yelling or screaming, it was all very peaceful and it echoed the tranquillity of this idyllic jungle setting. As long as I live I’ll remember the river, the people and their perfectly kept houses behind those picket fences.

A little later I stood on the jetty with Mungo, watching a group of older kids splashing around in the water.

‘I cannot tell you how glad I am to be back,’ Mungo said. ‘This is the best job, Charley. It’s absolutely brilliant.’

He was right, it was.

At last it was time to say goodbye, the villagers gathering to see us off. Back in the boats we were soon racing downriver and getting much wetter than on the way up. It was far less scary in the daytime and the pilot was really going for it. He threw the boat down the rapids without batting an eyelid and I got completely soaked on four separate occasions. Now and again we’d pass small boats with flat roofs carrying dirt bikes, their riders all kitted out for the jungle. I bet the riding up there is just fabulous. Another trip, perhaps - I had already vowed to myself that I would come back.

Retracing our steps to Ketapang, we spent the night there before jumping back on the
Hutan Express
and crossing the delta to the mouth of the Kapuas. It was 28 June and suddenly I could sniff the end of the trip ahead. I had mixed feelings - over the past few days I’d been missing Olly and the kids terribly, but at the same time this really was the journey of a lifetime. Better make the most of it, I told myself.

Then, starving hungry, I joined the others for frogs’ legs and puff adder.

24

Two Hundred and One Horsepower

We arrived in Bali on the evening of 29 June, taking a flight from Pontianak. It was a shame to leave Borneo by plane but our UNICEF trip had been a detour, and we really had no choice.

Russ was waiting for us, and I hoped he had news on the route ahead. We’d put a deposit on a boat to take us from Kupang to Darwin but I had no idea how we were going to get to Kupang itself. Sitting down with a map and a beer, Russ, Mungo and I discussed the journey. But if I’d been hoping for enlightenment, I was out of luck. It turned out that even the Kupang-Darwin stretch was still a bit sketchy.

‘Don’t worry, we’ve got the boat,’ Russ said. ‘It’s just that when I saw a picture of it my first reaction was “Oh my God!”’

‘That sounds promising.’

‘It looked better once they’d blown the picture up a bit.’

‘How far is it to Darwin?’ Mungo asked.

‘Four hundred and fifty miles. The boat ought to do about twenty knots, but apparently the currents are against you so it can take up to four days.’

‘Four days!’ I didn’t like the sound of that. After our experiences in Vietnam and Nikoi I’d decided I wasn’t much into boats. But Indonesia is, of course, a series of islands. If we weren’t going to fly, a boat was the only option. I turned to Mungo. ‘What do you think?’

Mungo thought for a moment. ‘Well,’ he said carefully, ‘if the skipper’s an Aussie and he’s done it before a few times . . . He must know what he’s letting himself in for. If he’s confident it’s OK then yeah, I’d put my life in his hands.’

‘I tell you something,’ Russ said with a nervous grin. ‘You wouldn’t want to be on that boat in rough weather. Not from the picture I saw . . . Having said that,’ he added quickly, seeing our expressions, ‘I suppose you don’t really know about a boat until you step on to it. Right now our priority is to get to Kupang. Lucy and I weren’t able to get anything concrete sorted back in London, but Jo stayed up all night to find and organise a boat, and this morning I met up with an Australian guy called Steve to finalise the plans. He said he’s got a speedboat that could take us part of the way.’

Now we’d had a chance to discuss things properly, Russ called Steve, who offered to take us as far as the Gili Islands tomorrow night, and then on to Bima. From there we could pick up a
phinisi
, a traditional sailing boat a bit like a dhow. If we sailed overnight on the
phinisi
we could get to Flores via Komodo, again on the speedboat, giving us just enough time to catch a ferry to Kupang. A little complicated, but still - sorted.

But it was the journey from Kupang to Darwin that still worried me, and I’d learned to listen more closely to my instinct. There is something to be said for not tempting fate and already we’d lost the engine on one boat then managed to hole another half an hour from shore. Between here and Darwin we had about nine days at sea and while I was up for the fun of it, I was still a little apprehensive. At least I had a new good luck charm with me. Back in Borneo I’d lost the St Christopher I’d been wearing the entire journey. I had phoned my wife and she bought a new one, had it blessed and sent it out with Russ. The next morning I fastened it carefully round my neck and thought of Olly and the kids back home.

On the way out of the hotel we bumped into four Bondi Beach life guards from Sydney called Harry, Chappo, Tom and Terry. They were making a documentary with their counterparts here - they told us that a couple of hundred tourists drown in the waters around Bali each year. The lads were fans of the
Long Way
series and asked if I would deliver a card to their mate ‘Box’ when I got to Sydney. They also asked me to ride a moped with them down to the marina for their TV show. I had to get to the boat somehow and, never one to turn down the chance of two wheels, I happily accepted.

Down at the marina, Steve introduced us to Andy, the Indonesian guy who would skipper the boat. We were supposed to leave at three p.m. but it was already gone four. I was concerned because the boat had no lights and it would be dark by around half six. We were at the south-eastern tip of Bali and had to get to Trawangan on the north-western tip of the Gili Islands - a trip of at least two hours.

While we waited for the paperwork to be sorted, I asked Andy if he’d been that way before. He replied that he’d been there in this very boat - something I found reassuring, remembering how I’d felt when Ahong told me he’d never crossed from Nikoi to Borneo before. I asked Andy what the weather was going to be like. Right now it was blisteringly hot, the sky a perfect blue and the water sparklingly calm.

‘There is high tide and neap tide,’ Andy told me. ‘At high tide the water is very big, but it’s better at neap tide; only the wind is bad then.’

‘What is it today?’

‘High tide.’

By the time we were finally cleared to go it was quarter to five. Mungo was excited by the prospect of sailing on what he called a ‘proper boat’, all clean lines and very sleek. It could reach a speed of forty-nine knots, which was pretty bloody fast. I checked the pilot’s console to make sure we had all the right stuff like GPS and radar. It did, but no matter how well equipped the boat was and how unfazed Andy seemed to be, I knew we were going to arrive at Trawangan in darkness and on a boat without lights.

‘What do you reckon, Russ?’ Mungo asked as we got settled.

‘Great. Crossing shark-infested waters in pitch-darkness. Just what “by any means” is all about.’

‘We’ve got petrol and horsepower,’ I said. ‘That works for me.’

Backing away from the marina we made our way out of the harbour. The sea was calm, but then of course it was sheltered here. As we picked up speed I went and stood to the side of the wheel, Russ squatting on the seat in front, the wind whipping at our hair and spray stinging our faces.

‘I spoke to Lucy just before we left,’ Russ called out over the whine of the engine. ‘The boat from Kupang is definitely on its way.’

‘Did they say any more about how long it would take to get to Darwin?’

‘Four days minimum.’

Four days . . . Ah, well. We’d seen a boat in the harbour that Russ thought was roughly the kind of thing we’d be going on: thirty-seven feet, maybe. Up close it didn’t look too bad. I decided not to worry any further - there was nothing more I could do now until we reached Kupang.

Gradually the land mass began to dwindle and we were soon in choppier sea, the bows smacking rapidly rising waves that formed a swell like mountains far to the left. Glancing back to Mungo I saw seat cushions disappearing over the stern.

‘Hey, Andy,’ I yelled. ‘We lost the cushions.’

He slowed down, turned the boat and there they were. It bothered me that we’d lost something overboard, particularly so soon after we’d set off.

‘Jesus,’ I muttered. ‘Somebody’s telling us not to go today.’

‘Hey, Charley,’ Mungo called as if he’d heard me. ‘Take a look.’ I stared at where he was pointing. The sun was already going down and at first I couldn’t see anything except the rapidly greying waves. Then I spotted it. A shark’s fin, slicing through the water. A little shiver worked through me.

‘Are there a lot of sharks in these waters?’ I asked Andy.

‘Oh yeah,’ he nodded. ‘Lots and lots of sharks.’

Lots and lots of sharks. And we would be negotiating rocks and God knows what else in the dark with no lights. Perfect.

At ten past six I was scanning our position on the GPS. The sun was sinking fast and I reckoned in twenty minutes we would be in complete darkness. We still had at least forty minutes, maybe an hour to go. ‘It’s dark in less than half an hour,’ I muttered to Andy.

Andy nodded. ‘We have to be careful of rocks,’ he said, ‘and floating wood. There’s a lot of floating wood off the island.’

I kept one eye on the horizon now as it got steadily darker.

‘Oh, well,’ Russ said. ‘At least we did that night exercise in Southampton.’

‘With lights and buoys and waypoints,’ I reminded him. ‘That was the River Hamble, mate, not the open sea.’

By six-thirty-five the ocean was black. I stood at the gunwales as we raced through the darkness.

‘By the way,’ Russ said. ‘Bits of the boat are falling apart.’ Leaning over the side, he flapped at a thick rubber band that went all the way round the hull. It was hanging off like a broken seal on a fan oven.

‘I don’t believe it,’ I said. ‘Why is it that every boat I step on, there’s something not working?’

Suddenly the engine note changed, rising savagely in pitch. Moments later Andy cut the power and the bows dipped hard into the swell, sending the whole vessel into a sideways roll.

‘What is it?’ I said through the gloom. It was so dark I could only just make out his face by the lights on the console.

‘There’s something caught in the propeller.’

We’d clearly run into the kind of debris he’d warned us about. He put the boat into reverse and slowly wound on the power, the little alarm sounding on the dash. For a moment the gears wouldn’t engage. That’s it, I thought. We’re fucked.

God, I hate boats.

But Andy worked the prop gently backwards and at last whatever had caught came loose and the familiar whine started up once again.

I fingered the St Christopher Olly had sent, and peered into the darkness with hot tongues of wind drying the sweat on my face. Let’s just make it now, I thought. Please, please, let’s just make it.

We got going again but now there seemed to be some confusion about which way to go. We had GPS and radar, but the mechanic was on one side of the console jabbering away and gesticulating while Andy was on the other doing the same. They were pointing in different directions and remonstrating with each other.