In the hope that there might be enough people there to require their use, I put together a few simple props to rehearse with. A small glass ball, a pack of cards, and a teacup – to represent three of the objects used by the fortune tellers in the story – as well as a blanket. The fact that two key characters in the particular scene were missing meant we couldn’t actually use them, but still, it wasn’t a waste of time bringing them. The ones who were there – Hamid, Sherwan, and Jaime – were intrigued to see them, and they also provoked a short English lesson, when I told them they were called props in the language of theatre, and of course they used their phones to check, and there was a brief discussion on the difference props in the theatre and props, or supports, in real life. Not that theatre isn’t real life, but you know what I mean. Anyway.
We warmed up with some physical work on characterisation, changing body shapes and the like, using animal ideas, all of which they took to well.
It did mean we could concentrate on the second half of the story, when Youssef, the traveller in the story, meets a succession of people all offering him wonderful opportunities. Youssef (Sherwan) was there, and so we spent some time on his encounters with the Old man (Hamid), and the Priest (Jaime), both of which came along nicely. Sherwan, who lacked confidence at first, is really starting to grow as an actor (though he can still get dreadful giggles.)
And towards the end, we had a new arrival. My apologies, for I cannot remember her name, but she is a young Iranian girl, here with her mother; inevitably, contacts of Hamid. She has been here just one month, and speaks very little English, but she watched what little there was remaining with interest. And so that she would be involved, we played Zip Zap Boing at the end, which she picked up fast. And said (via Hamid) that she was keen to return, though she spoke no English. Which was, of course, of no consequence at all, or so I reassured her.
During the trip from the Galapagos to the Marquesas we did at last start to catch some fish. It seems that the problem with attracting and therefore catching fish was the trailing log, which we had been towing, to give us a read on our distance travelled. Once we pulled that in, we caught a fair few fish of a good size, mostly tuna, I think. My impression was that we cut a pair of fillets from each fish, and then threw the rest back – I recall thinking this to be extremely wasteful, but Val’s letter (you will read this later) suggests that we were to become far more inventive.
More pervasively, the taste of the journey was the underlying tang of diesel, which seemed to work its way into just about everything, not just straight drinking water, but tea, coffee, potatoes…
After the excitement of the Day of Action, it was back to normal: the regular class at the hotel. A respectable showing of five regulars – Ali, Hamed, Aisha, Sherwan, and Abdulaziz, plus Diana, a Russian lady who had been once before. Jaime did make an appearance, but only outside the window, strolling along with his headphones on, oblivious to the world.
I played some copying games as a warm-up, leading onto guess who the leader is. A family of games, which I had completely forgotten about; I have been teaching Drama for most of my life, but some of the exercises come and go. Something to do with my aging memory, I suppose. We then took a quick look at the idea of dislocation, playing about with space, so that, for example, two people having an argument are both turned towards the audience. It is a relatively sophisticated technique, but they seemed to grasp it quickly.
We then took another look at the opening section of The Story of Destiny, rehearsing it in greater detail, and making improvements as a result. I have been somewhat despairing of ever moving the piece on… or any piece, for that matter, but there did seem to be a genuine desire to make some progress. Two sessions a week are not going to work, I feel, but they do seem to want longer rehearsals, so that we can make greater progress, and there is something in that.
11/6/82 We are now sitting in the quiet anchorage called Wreck Bay in the Galapagos Islands. Our captain has gone ashore this morning to clear the boat in and get the paperwork done, so that we are signed into Ecuador and can go ashore. We are eagerly awaiting his return as he promised he would bring back some fresh bread for dinner. And then we’ll go ashore to look around. Chris is dying for a beer, and I am hoping with all my heart that I can buy some fresh milk. It’s amazing what you take for granted normally (at home the milkman brings fresh milk every day and you can go to the baker’s, not too far away, to buy bread when you want it) and suddenly you realise how much you miss being able to pop into town, or just down the road to the shops when you need something.
It has taken us 3 weeks to make a 12-14 day journey, so I hope we’ll do better than that on the next leg of our trip. We did eventually catch a fish, but it was so small and puny we had to throw it back. We also caught a bird! We had several large birds following the boat for a while, and then suddenly one dived and tried to eat our bait. So we had to reel the bird in, flapping and beating its wings through the sea, and then take the hook out of its beak. It stood on the deck for a moment gathering its dignity and Alma rubbed it dry with a towel before it flew off, first landing in the sea and then flying off for good.
While nearing the islands we have seen lots and lots of wildlife. We have had many hitch-hiking birds – at one time we had 5 booby birds sitting on the bowsprit and they were so tame that we could go up and touch them. We have also seen two or three whales swimming only about 30 yards off the boat, surfacing and diving, curious to see what we are – often they mistake boats for other whales. There are quite a few seals in and around the islands and there is one that sits on the bows of the tiny fishing boats moored here in the harbour. Of course, the Galapagos are most famous for the turtles here and we are hoping to get ashore to see some, but unfortunately the authorities here are very strict about boats cruising around the islands, and won’t let you go to visit the wildlife unless you pay an exorbitant amount of money for a guided tour.
We have been busy cleaning up the boat for a day and so we’ll soon be free to go sight-seeing. Chris and I have done most of the household chores, but Jack and Alma have a lot more work to do. At the moment the biggest thing to repair is the main sail – we have a large rip several feet across to be patched. And also the front sail has to be replaced by another larger one we have on board, which means going up to the top of the mast to change the fitting. And on top of that we have a mountain of washing to be done on the back deck. It’s so difficult to do things other than what is absolutely necessary when out at sea that you tend to leave things piling up for when you get into port.
We’re looking forward to getting our feet on solid ground again this afternoon; I think, though, that we’ll find it difficult to stand up straight now that we’re so used to rocking + rolling about. The next letter will probably be in about a month to five weeks time, so see you then.
This week’s Drama session had to be cancelled because too many of my participants had WhatsApped to let me know they were absent, but Hamed invited me to join them on Saturday, when they were attending (participating in? observing?) the Day of Action against the Cost of Living crisis, organised by the TUC. This had been arranged particularly by Robin, the teacher of the Senior English class, under the banner (literally) of EFA (which I believe stands for English For Action). And so I took myself to London on Saturday morning, meeting up at Wembley Central.
Much as expected, it took quite a while for our small band to assemble, but at least with mobile phones we were not just waiting around hopefully. But any group can struggle to co-ordinate, and this one has a particular issue with punctuality. Anyway, in time we had a small group, with just Hamed and Aisha from the Drama group, plus various contacts, friends and colleagues of Robin. Eventually, we took a long tube ride from Wembley to Oxford Circus, and then met the demonstration assembling in Portland Place.
It was the usual collection of groups, banners, shouts – we found ourselves at the very back of the march. But this one seemed even more eclectic than usual. In theory, the focus was on Cost of Living and a response to that, but in fact it was a general shout of opposition to the government, with Refugees, the NHS, and other touch-paper issues raised and chanted. But it remained a stirring and inspiring group. For quite a while, when the beast finally lumbered into life and started moving forward, we were more observers than participants, walking alongside and rather faster than the march, enabling us to see a wide range of the groups there, and, eventually, to insinuate ourselves into the march proper. And we were gathering more people; Robin has been involved in activism for a very long time, and so has lots of friends and contacts.
It also gave us all a chance to walk through London, and so engage in a spot of sight-seeing. I pointed out Eros to Aisha, and then Nelson on his column. “Nelson Mandela!” cried Aisha, excitedly, though I was forced to point out that this was a different Nelson. And Hamed was somewhat subdued. Being at such an event was all too powerful a reminder of similar events in Iran, which had led to his enforced exile, away from his country, away from his wife.
Eventually, we arrived at Parliament Square, but if anything that was something of a damp squib. There were speeches, but so far as I could see they were only being delivered on a video screen, and there was little focus. There did seem to be one lone voice of protest against this, a large guy with a St George’s flag, who engaged little with the left-wing ocean in which he had placed himself. I was carrying a banner protesting the flights to Rwanda, selected as best describing my own beliefs, from the many discarded along the way (as well as the boxes and boxes of brand-new ones.) This did provoke one call – “Send ‘em to Rwanda!” – as I walked past, and then “Up the Hammers!”, referring to the West Ham shirt I was wearing.
There was a picnic meal planned, but it looked to me as though this would still take some time to organise, so at this point I decided to say my goodbyes and make my way home – I still had quite a journey. I was pleased to have gone, to have met Aisha and Hamed in a different context, to have witnessed the response to our Johnson-led government.
31/5/82 Hello again! It’s now a week later and we haven’t sighted land yet – the wind hasn’t been in our favour, so we’re not moving along very fast. Ah well, it gives me plenty of time for sewing, mending + reading, not to mention a bit of cooking. Talking of cooking, I made some biscuits this morning (a la Jonas) and seeing as I’ve never attempted them all by myself before they came out rather well – and it’s easy to blame the motion of the boat for any imperfections. I let them get rather too brown (silly me), but I thought “never mind, Chris likes them dark”, and then he goes and tells me that he’s changed his mind and likes the light ones now! I had to stop him from grabbing a handful when they came out of the oven.
Well, so much for my culinary enterprises. Do you know we’ve been at sea for 11 days now, travelled about 900 miles, trailed a fishing line almost every daylight hour and we haven’t landed a fish yet. I’m almost ashamed to tell anyone. We’re having to go easy on the meat we have as we’re not sure what we’ll be able to buy on the way to the small islands; so each time we more or less scheduled a fish dinner, we have the same meal, minus the fish, and have to leave it up to our imaginations. Chris saw a six-foot shark swimming alongside the boat a few mornings ago, and some fish bit the whole bait off the fishing line, but apart from that the only marine life we’ve seen are a few flying fish and squid that get washed up on deck.
On the bright side, the weather has perked up considerably. We’ve had several days of beautiful sunshine (so my tan is looking pretty good) and we’ve been able to relax out on deck with just enough breeze and shade from the sun-canopy to keep us cool. Unfortunately, with the nice weather, the wind has dropped quite a lot, so that we’re not moving very fast.
I have been learning to navigate, and think I’m doing quite well; I have my own sextant and I take readings at the same time as Jack the captain. Then we compare readings and so far my sights have been fairly close to his, when we plot the bearings on the chart.
We hope to arrive in the Galapagos soon – that sounds hopeful, doesn’t it – and that will be the true test of our navigating. Sometimes when you look around at the ocean – miles and miles of it – you wonder how on earth anyone can find a tiny island in the middle of it.
Well, quite! So all the more credit to Val, who was using a relatively cheap, plastic sextant, and with it doing equally as well as Jack with his expensive, precision engineeredGerman one.
Something a little different – a new voice. It is the first section of a letter home from Val, posted in the Galapagos, and so covering a period already written about in the diary. But with a different perspective, and style. We wrote home pretty much every week to our respective mothers, though obviously this was disrupted by being in the middle of the ocean.
“May 24th, 1982.
Dear mum and Mar,
Here we are on Chris’s birthday, somewhere in the Pacific Ocean (we don’t know exactly where, because we haven’t had any sun for 4 days now and so haven’t been able to take any sextant readings) and we’ve been away from home for a year now. I can’t really work out whether the time has gone slowly or quickly – I think there have been periods of both.
It really looks as if we’re going to make it to some of the Pacific I*slands now – we’re about half way to the Galapagos Islands, so there is little point in turnong back if we have any problems as we’re closer to our destination than to Panama. (Panam, by the way, is one of the places I’m not very interested in seeing again.)
W e have now been at sea for about 4 days and it takes that long to get your sea legs. At first Alma (the woman’s name on the boat) and I were a little sea-sick, but we have overcome that. However, small everyday things, such as preparing simple meals, eating, going to the bathroom and even walking require huge efforts – mainly in patience. But once you stop cursing every time you fall over, or a pan slides across the cooker, you begin to feel a little easier. This morning I ventured to make Chris a birthday cake – what a laugh! The cake mixture slopped over into the back of the oven and what was left in the tins was a most peculiar shape. We couldn’t get it out of the pans whole so we left one half in and pasted the other half to it with icing. Alma managed to find some candles so now it doesn’t look too bad. Chris has already had his birthday present (a Sony Walkman II which is a mini tape recorder which you can carry around with you and listen to it through headphones) but I’ve got him a T-shirt, as all of his clothes are worn out, and a pocket backgammon set as a surprise.
We are both fairly tired as we haven’t got used to the night watches yet; we are very lucky because the boat has a self-steering device so that you don’t have to sit at the wheel all of the time. However, that means that at night all you have to do is look out for ships to make sure they don’t run you over, so there isn’t very much to keep you awake. We’ve found that the best way is to listen to the tape-recorder. We haven’t seen a ship now for two days and the further out we get the less likely we are to see any.
We are lucky that the couple we are with like to read. as they have a large library of books on board – we certainly will need it as the days at sea are very long. We are rather disappointed that we haven’t caught any fish yet; you almost rely on it for fresh food when sailing in the Pacific. Tomorrow we try some different bait and maybe we’ll have better luck. We think that the fish may not be around because we’ve been having bad weather since we left Panama. We can’t believe that we can be so near the equator and not see sun for 4 days. With all the rain and sea-spray we have discovered leaks we never thought existed and so we have been trying to dry all the carpets out where the floor got wet. We don’t dare wash any clothes as we already have enough wet stuff.
This letter doesn’t sound too bright, but in fact we are enjoying ourselves, although I reserve full judgment until I’ve experienced a little more sea life. And I think our motto at the moment seems to be, “It’s not the going but the the getting there!”
So, nothing particularly new, but a different viewpoint. Rather more cheerful, in some ways, but remember this was after only four days. Funny to see the need to explain a Sony Walkman, which has already passed into obsolescence. But it did prove a life-saver. And pleasant to read of Val and Alma working so closely together.
As promised, the first update to our activity during the Missing section. One reader, my friend Pam, had wondered whether, in view of the clear antipathy between ourselves and our hosts, we had decided to leave the Alma and seek alternative travel. This was never an option. The Galapagos may be different now, but back then there was very little to it – not much more than a small village. There may have been, even then, more developed parts of the islands, but of course we never saw them, and it did seem that we were pretty much at the administrative hub. So, nowhere to stay; no alternative means of continuing our journey (there were no other yachts when we were there); and no administrative mechanism for allowing us to stay. Quite the reverse, in fact, as tourism of any kind seemed to be actively discouraged, and/or ridiculously expensive (I imagine that there were expensive scientific tours from Ecuador.)
So we left with Jack and Alma. We had seen virtually nothing of one of the most remote and evocative places on earth – as I have said, Val maintained the impression that she had barely made it to the shoreline. But actually, even if there had been the possibility of leaving, we would have stayed with the Alma. The deal was that they were taking us to Tahiti, with international links, a lively yachting scene, a more attractive life (we assumed) once we were there.
And that, I fear, brings us to a pause in the proceedings. A relatively long one, at that, but enforced, for there is no diary for the next few weeks. Some of you, who have heard the story before, will know why, but in the interests of avoiding plot spoilers, I will say no more for the present… all will be revealed in time.
And in the meantime, I will do my best to fill the space with what information I can. There are a couple of letters sent home, so I will raid those, but I will need to ration these. And, fear not, in relatively short time we will be back to daily postings.
But a note on the picture. As I have observed, Val got ooff the boat very little during our time in the Galapagos, largely because she was engaged in the activity pictured: mending the sail. Very hard going, too, since sailcloth is notoriously tough (which hadn’t prevented it tearing.) Alma did some too, to be fair, but Val did the most.
I had to be off to the market early, so I was up at the crack of dawn + made tea. I took Val in a cup, + she promptly hit me in the mouth. She claimed it was an accident, but I’m not so sure. Anyway, she rowed me in – it’s not possible for anyone to row in + tie the dinghy off, because there’s a heavy swell + no rubber buffers – + I trotted off. (“This little piggie…”) On the way, I met a remarkably amiable shopkeeper, who changed $20 for me, at a favourable rate. The market was great – it’s a permanent concrete arrangement, but seems to take place in a haphazard manner. People arrive on the morning bus, lug their wares over to a stall, + set up shop. Things had been underway for about 10 minutes when I arrived, so I had to make a snap decision about priorities – there wasn’t very much of anything at all – except maybe limes. I hesitated at a stall with some grapefruit + green bananas, but saw that the big rush was for meat, so that had to be no. 1. There were 2 lines – sort of, pushy, jostly sort of lines they were – one male, one female. It’s a shame I wasn’t a woman, since their line moved at twice the speed. But it was great entertainment to watch the butcher – like watching any craftsman at work, I suppose – who was not only good at his job, but also had flair. He had 5 big sides of beef hanging up, + as people arrived at the front of the counter they would shout a number – usually 4 – signifying how many pounds of meat they wanted. So far as I could tell, that was the end of the purchasing discrimination. His north wind sharp knife would whip down, + there was the exact weight of meat in the scale. Marvellous. Reaching the end of the side, he would have to wield a heavy axe to break the bones, a tree trunk in the corner serving as a chopping block. And always, his axe fell with deadly accuracy. When my turn came, I asked for 10 lbs (tho’ asked is not exactly the right word – I shouted out my request before someone else could snatch my turn), + he let me have 6, divided half + half between ribs + the lean meat. When I had to pay, they were lacking in small change, so he lopped me off another small piece of meat. Fairly well pleased with my purchases, I set out to see what else I could buy. To my delight, the grapefruit were still there, + I was able to buy green bananas. In fact, I bought something of everything they had on offer (except lettuce – too much of a rush for that): yucca, oranges + limes, plus what I’ve already mentioned.
And so, heavily laden, I returned (ordering a heavy load of bread en route) + Val rowed out to meet me. Our water tanker was supposed to arrive at about this time, so we repeated yesterday’s exercise at mooring. It must have been the practice, but this time the operation went perfectly. However, no water tanker appeared, either at its appointed time or, for that matter, at any time during the day. After we waited a couple of hours, Val + I went in to town to do some shopping. It was really nice to be back to wandering around again, on our own, looking in shops, chatting with people (our Spanish seems better than ever.) And the people here (the village is called San Cristobal) are so amazingly friendly, especially the shopkeeper/money changer + all his family. Returned with one heavy load of shopping, then back again in the afternoon for another batch – a great load of bread, eggs, cans of hot dogs… the sort of stuff every yachtie needs. And then back again once more – to our friendly shopkeeper, who else? – for a couple of jugs of water, the boat being completely dry in that respect.
A nice friendly evening, once we’d given up on the water + returned to our anchorage, with dinner + a beer, + then an attempt by Val + I to row in for 1 more in town. We had to give up + return, when the “beach” we’d been aiming for turned out to be fronted with jagged black rocks – we barely escaped with our boat + bones intact. So, backgammon instead. Running score 76-50, to me.
And so, the end of Vol II (not that I have any confidence that Vol I will ever be seen again.) That one finished with us in San Diego, this one in the Galapagos. And the rest…? Hmmm.
A long diary entry – you can see that I have been missing the stimulation of life on shore, as suddenly there was much to write about. And clearly the market was a remarkable place. But typically, when I returned my purchases were scrutinised very closely, and Alma was clearly of the opinion that, as a male, I was hopeless at shopping, and had clearly been ripped off. (Have to say, not sure where this memory came from, as it clearly isn’t in the diary. I do have other sources, of course – Val’s and my memories, letters home, the writing I did immediately after we returned.)
But having commended our memories, this is another clear example of them letting us down. Val was convinced that she had stepped foot on no more of the Galapagos than the end of the jetty, but this indicates otherwise. Not that that was much more than indicated in the photo; there was very little indeed to San Cristobal.
But a pleasant evening, so it seems, with beer(!) and a relatively convivial dinner.
And then, the end of another diary – Volume 2 – with thoughts of what was to come…