Thursday 7 September 2000
The one short day when the four of us went
past rubber, hill, Paka, forest, bay, cape;
from the humdrum routine of a small fishing town,
it would be my chance to … escape
Cape Escape; yesterday, a somewhat unusual trip
in that much of our journey was on the ‘Virgo’, an upper class ship;
our marine safari began from the Awana,
a five-star, salary-chewing piranha,
the pricey hotel fronting the tree wind break beach,
built, not for the local peasant tribesmen like me,
but for the elite of the big City to reach
for a weekend trying to play golf by the sea,
away from the Klang valley and incumbent haze,
the pressure of motorway life on the west coast.
It has a huge reception, chandeliers ablaze,
with some eight storeys high, it can also boast
outdoor chess - where I have only seen myself play -
horse-riding, swimming pool, big golf course, tennis court;
the ship was going to Kuantan for half a day
or, to be exact, the half road hour distant port,
taking about eighty minutes by bus
but today it would be about three or four hours for us
from the humdrum routine of a small fishing town,
it would be a welcome escape
the beginning
into the hotel foyer to register, then
after a few bus minutes of organised chaos here,
we wait at the bare and breeze swept Kijal jetty, an inflated name
for a concrete walkway, watching the small transfer boat play a game
in petulant fashion, arrogant flounce, as an angry spoilt child might,
the mini rough sea making it bounce, as if it were trying to fight;
then, ten minutes later, we enter the ship, halfway quaking,
people eager at the start of the trip they were making,
maybe, for many, coming from this small half-awake town,
this was their first high class four hour cruise.
for those of more modest financial renown,
a type of break that they’d not often choose,
I’d been on a number of quite large ships before,
both ways across the Channel and North Sea,
to the Mediterranean from Singapore,
through Bombay, the Suez canal, to Italy. .
but this, the first time with children and wife;
the last with my brother, the Spanish army men
to North Africa, going from Almeria.
the interior decor - painting,
wood, polish, carpets, mirrors, as you imagine it should be,
breathing the sea, we wander on to the top deck,
the radars turning,
peer through the railings to where grouper, bream peck,
the snapper churning,
feel the energy, a syringe injecting
clean wet warm sea air,
the breeze washing your face and brushing, inspecting
your salt crispy hair,
the woodwork well varnished, the white paint-work so clean,
bridge window squinting,
in the true style of the Swedish merchant marine,
uniform glinting,
ploughing through about twenty an hour,
the nautical mile,
the Elbe shipyard designer’s flower,
of elegant style;
the local ferries are not the same quality
maestro piano
in long white concert coat,
making it not hard to forget that you’re now afloat
crescendo, diminuendo, forte, treble, bass,
ivory waves washing right round the place -
the Grand Piazza; people wait quiet on the carpet stair
listening intently to, appreciating, minuet, waltz, and air;
a Beethoven request from a Singapore bint
but we get a Chopin mazurka with glittering tint;
the vibration, so slight, means that we’re now on our way,
but the evergreen pianist continues to play
to much warm applause from those in the house,
for Mr Scott Joplin, the Blue Danube Strauss,
the latter, I assume, used to a barge rather than a boat…
pool deck
a
West Indian band play hot by the pool,the
music and water making things coolas
the bikinis splash by the lounging chair,
the
reggae swings in the afternoon air;
my
children come in, tell me of their enjoyment
of
hearing the Caribbean boys, in rewarding employment.
restaurant
mong the eating outlets, one could choose
were Continental pizza, mushroom, cheese;
but I cook at home, as I do Chinese,
for with good food it’s easy to enthuse...
but we take north Indian in The Taj,
white rice, chapati, rich soft mutton dish,
aubergines, dhal peas, hot spice curry fish,
a picture cuisine of the old British Raj;
popadoms, yoghurt, fluffy flour nan,
that using your bread to mop up the sauce,
then sip ice cool water, multi-coloured fruit course,
a take-your-time buffet, eat all you can;
the tall white-hat chef now checking the fare,
making his rounds with professional care.
bridge lounge
in the afternoon, behind the bridge, we watched the crew
through the observation window, where we are able
to see the helm, navigator gear, communication table
behind, the forward lounge, holding young Harri,
a Tagalong band in play, we listen to the rhythm carry;
one kind-man musician lets my son try the guitar,
the patrons sit quiet, take drinks from the bar
also in the group, a high-singing bass player,
a keyboard, centre back drum,
a few South American instruments, gourd, maracas,
crooning, quiet backing vocal hum;
cha-cha-cha, rumba, trumpet, sax, trombone,
funky young woman singing with calypso, latino tone,
noise, movement, partying, until the late afternoon was through
reflection in the African aira cargo ship, going who knows where, departs the port,
the children play, splash and swim in the pool at the rear,
I watch them from a higher deck, enjoying their sport
the sun getting lower now, things seems good from here;
few know my childhood ambition was the be in the merchant marine,
a life style of style that would have suited a wandering me,
but the prospects fell to zero when a know-it-all unthinking teen,
I stupidly dropped Physics when only form two or three…
coming towards sunset, the cruise now through,
walk slow through the exit, take passports from crew,
on the quay, look up at some fourteen decks high,
now quiet at her moorings, time for goodbye;
back now to Kijal
in a less than clean coach,
we get tyre problem, the misery beginning to encroach
sitting and swearing, emotions fall low,
compare real life now with a few hours ago;
the body’s back on land, but the mind roaming free,
still swaying across the propeller rent sea...
yeah, that one short bit day when the four of us went
past rubber, hill, Cukai, forest, bay, cape,
back to the humdrum routine of a small fishing town,
I‘m thinking we’d had a chance to escape…
