Today was going to be an all action day. Get the sail on, relentlessly track down an oil extractor pump and shout a lot at the emergency elektrikery. In the event, the anchorage was really uncomfortable last night and I seemed to spend most of it on anchor watch. Not that I could do much or indeed anything with no engine and only a main to hoist if I had started dragging.
Consequently I was pretty knackered this morning and had very little grip in my hands due to ripped blisters on both. I wasn't even sure that I could row ashore, all of about 150 metres. Around 1130 I told myself I was a bloody wimp and needed some water rather urgently, not to mention petrol for the emergency elektrikery should it decide to start working again. I rowed ashore, wincing in what I hoped was a manly fashion but nobody was watching so that was OK. Due to the 'big tour' today there were no rally guides in the beach office but I left a 10litre can for the petrol and two jerry cans for 'air mandi not air minum'. Mandi is water to wash with and is free, minum is drinking water and is essentially mineral water. it isn't free so I've decided to not fill my tanks with drinking water but make sure I have enough in bottles from stop to stop.
Anyway, I bimbled into town and the first ATM refused my card, the old 'refer to you bank' ploy.Swine AT. I went into a bank where they made valiant and embarrassed attempts to speak English. I don't speak Indonesian and it's their country so why should they be embarrassed? Apparently from the 1st Aug ATM machines in Indonesia stopped reading 'chips' embedded in cards. This can't actually be right because my card worked in Kupang. A senior teller accompanied me to the ATM machine and said she was 'praying for me'. This is a common _expression_ here, due to the strong Catholic influence which seems all wrong in a Muslim country. I put the card in and....this machine gave me money. I celebrated by having chicken and rice for lunch with a cold can of fruit tea, which cost me about US$3 or just under. I returned to the dingy landing area and ran into one of the guides who knew I was looking for an extractor pump. In true Indonesian style (wanting to please) he assured me that he knew where to get one and then started ringing around to track one down. It was decided, if I didn't mind riding pillion, that we would start the treasure hunt at 4pm. It was now 3pm so I wasn't about to row back out to Trouters but a French guy, Arno, crewing on one of the yachts was sitting with a group f fishermen, sharing a plastic bottle of Arak and a dead fish. I joined them, declined the fish (saya suda makan...I've already eaten...impressive eh?) and had a mouthful of Arak....I'm now known as 'Satchmo!'
Now Anthony is a bit more Melanesian than Indonesian I think. I think that because his hair could quite easily be fashioned into dreadlocks. Whilst not the exactly head fisherman, by reason of speaking good English he had been left in charge of the beach by the rally guys. He explained that he had some local influence because he could recommend or not local establishments to us yotties. I declined more Arak on the grounds that my eyes were weak enough already but I did purchase a cold beer,,,well at US$3 why not? I offered Anthony some beer but he declined as he didn't want to mixed his drinks. The rally people got back off the tour and one of them gave him a beer. Possibly worried that I would take offense at his previous refusal of a beer he prevailed on me to have a shot of Arak. It's quite good you know.
