I could and did, to be handed a visa for every member of our Phoenix party, without qualifications. Across the visas was written, boldly, “Guests of Indonesia.” There was no charge.
While in Sydney, I bought an additional dinghy, a flat little skiff that was promptly christened Flattypus. I also added a “gadget,” a small, kerosene-burning refrigerator. It seemed to work beautifully—in port, at least—and Barbara was ecstatic. Knowing who would have to service it for the rest of its natural life, I withheld my enthusiasm, but I had to admit that it cooled the beer nicely and hoped that happy condition would continue.
By late April (corresponding to October in the Northern Hemisphere) the weather was getting nippy and we accelerated our preparations for departure. Once again, Barbara drew up her commissioning list, making adjustments according to whatever “tinned goods” and staples were available. By now, she was quite an expert in estimating our needs for weeks or even months at a time, and the provisions she laid in now would be required to carry us all the way to Durban—an eight to nine months’ supply. Even in English-speaking countries, however, it is not always easy to find what one needs. Baked beans and spaghetti, for instance, were sold in tiny cans like potted meats and were used in much the same way—for sandwiches. And canned food for cats was practically unheard of.
“Cat food—in tins?” one wholesaler repeated incredulously. “Now, why don’t you just nip down to the butchery and ask for a tuppenny-’orth of scraps?”
When we sailed from Sydney it was our plan to make no stops until within the Great Barrier Reef, almost a thousand miles to the north. We all looked forward to a restful period at sea to recover from the gradually accelerating pace of life ashore which inevitably becomes frenetic as departure nears. Especially after a prolonged stay in port, the last few days are a rat race, complete with “little lists” and a constant, gnawing worry lest something vital may be overlooked—either socially or from a subsistence point of view. Have all thank-you’s been said—or written? All engagements remembered and kept? All necessary supplies purchased—and delivered? Human nature being what it is, there are always a number of items we tentatively check off because someone or other has said, helpfully, “Oh, I can get that for you wholesale—just leave it to me!” or “I’ve dozens of those lying around, I’ll bring you all you can use.” But, as sailing day approaches, where are they? If it is an important, but expensive, item, you find yourself torn between laying out money for it unnecessarily or running the risk of sailing without it.
As departure draws near, the visitors increase, as do the number of invitations, until at last every waking minute of every day is filled and only the nights are left for worrying over things-to-be-done and things-to-be-bought. In the end there is a real sense of relief when we shove off and know there will be no more chance callers, no more absolutely necessary places to go or things to see, and no temptation to rush downtown for one last vital item.
Naturally, there is never any way of knowing whether a given trip will be pleasant or not. We usually have some control over the first day or two, in that we can wait for a favorable weather forecast or a fair wind, but after that it’s anybody’s guess.
On our run up the east of Australia we had generally good luck and racked up an auspicious record of 600 miles in the first five days, which was not bad against the current and in variable winds. Young Clare, who had never been away from home before or on a ship, was both homesick and seasick for the first few days, but she was a game sport. Gradually she perked up, and before long she and Jessica fell into an easy routine of schoolwork and play in a most congenial vein.
We all joined in studying the geography and history of the areas and towns we passed, for most of the time we were in sight of land and able to get a good idea of the vastness and, in the northern reaches, the desolation of the continent. Even Clare was properly impressed that it took the better part of four days to leave New South Wales behind—one of the smallest of Australia’s seven states. As Jessica observed, “Texas would certainly have its nose put out of joint down under!”
By day we passed mile after mile of white sand beaches, backed by rolling hills and occasional sharp, mountainous profiles. By night we could spot our position at any given time with the help of well-marked coastal lighthouses and beacons that made coastal cruising a pleasure.