Bab el Mandeb to Eritrea

Just before sunset March 24 we leave Aden and head for the Red Sea. We reach Bab el Mandeb which translates as "gates of sorrow" early in the morning. We have decided to go through the small strait to avoid the shipping traffic. With a SE wind of 25 kts, a strong current and big following seas we have a wild ride as we are swept through the strait. Once we are into the Red Sea the current stays with us as well as ESE winds of 20 to 30 kts. On the 3rd day the wind dies and at about noon we motor into the port of Massawa on the African coast. It has been a very tiring passage.

In recent history Eritrea was recognized as an independent country by the United Nations in 1993, following about 40 years of troubled governance by Ethiopia. Conflict with Ethiopia is ongoing. The port of Massawa does not see many ships. Eritrea is a very poor country with little to export. The remains of buildings bombed during war with Ethiopia dot the small city, including the palace of former Ethiopian emperor Haile Selassie.

The day after we arrive a cruise ship "Peace Boat" comes in with 600 Japanese tourists who are on a 6 month cruise. We say "kanechiwa" (hello in Japanese) to them and chat with a few who speak English. A good part of the day is spent getting Eritrean visas and travel permits which will allow us to visit the capital city of Asmara.

The next morning, along with Roger and Pam from Cap d'Or, we get on a small bus with about 30 local people and a booming stereo system and head off up a winding narrow road into the mountains. Along the way we pass small villages of dwellings constructed of any available scrap material. Herds of goats nibble at anything that looks edible. On one steep stretch of road we come upon a group of baboons who run alongside our bus. Someone tosses food out the window to them. We stop at military checkpoints along the way where our travel permits are examined. Looking out across the mountains and valleys the scenery is spectacular. We have a rest stop at the village of Ghinda where women are selling fresh vegetables including some county fair sized squash. Roasted ears of corn tempt us but turn out to be quite chewy. We see very few cars here, mostly busses passing through, camels and carts pulled by spindly legged donkeys or small horses.

After 4 hours we arrive at Asmara which at 5500 ft is a more comfortable temperature than Massawa. Although part of Asmara has rutted dirt roads, donkey carts and traditional markets, in the thriving downtown there is a European atmosphere of tree lined boulevards, sidewalk cafes and a large cathedral. A community of Italians live in Asmara, a holdover from the years when Eritrea was an Italian colony.

We stay overnight at the Central Hotel and return to Massawa by bus the next day. It is a challenge to find the right bus and to guard our spot in the line of people wanting to get on our bus. Back in the anchorage we learn that Greg from the sailboat Faith has been taken to the hospital in Asmara and diagnosed with malaria. He had been seen by a local doctor and the doctor on board the Peace Boat but they were not sure what was wrong with him. The doctors in Asmara decided his condition was serious enough that he could get better treatment in Cairo. Eritrea is a cash only economy and U.S. dollars are not available there. Both the hospital and the airline wanted payment in U.S. dollars and the airline was not at all sure they wanted someone with malaria on their plane. Being seriously ill in a developing country can get complicated. With the aid of the U.S. embassy and help from cruisers Greg got to Cairo and within a few days had recovered sufficiently to return to his family on Faith.

Gulf of Aden

Tension mounts amidst the cruising fleet as the yachts in Salalah prepare for the next passage. The Gulf of Aden, between Yemen and Somalia, is known by some as "pirate alley". The pirates target ships primarily but a few yachts have been boarded over the years. Most cruisers sail through this area in groups.

We leave Oman March 9 in company with four other boats, heading for Aden--a distance of 640 miles. We agree to a minimum speed and staying within sight of one another, closing ranks at night. This turns out to be very stressful. Five yachts, five captains, five differing ideas of how to proceed. We vow not to do this again.

Ships prove to be a greater danger than pirates on this passage. One of our group spots a nuclear submarine as it surfaces heading in our direction. It is a British sub so a British yacht travelling with us calls them on the VHF. No answer. They want to remain incognito. The sub passes within a mile of us. Later that day an Evergreen container ship passes between Moonshadow and another yacht, less than half a mile from each of us.

Motorsailing one night at about 0400 hours a ship going the opposite direction turns and passes between us and the yacht ahead of us. My perception at night is not so good but I could see that the ship was getting too close. I shout for Richard who is sleeping below. He leaps out into the cockpit and throws the engine into reverse. As the enormous dark shape looms above us and silently glides past we are splashed by its stern wave. When his hearbeat resumes Richard calls the ship on the VHF. The person answering says that they did not see either yacht.

Two days out of Aden I am feeling ill and have a high fever. Fearing malaria we put out a medical emergency call on the VHF. A voice booms in from the Queen Mary II and they summon the ship's doctor to the bridge. He cannot diagnose malaria without a blood test so he advises us to treat the illness as malaria and get to Aden as quickly as possible. Monte Cristo, a French-Canadian yacht, volunteers to cut away from the group and travel with us. We make good speed, helped along by favorable winds, and arrive at Aden just before dark on March 14. By this time my temperature has gone down and I am feeling better. An Australian doctor, travelling with her family aboard the yacht Vagabond Heart, dinghies over to see me and decides that I do not have malaria but probably some kind of viral infection. Over the next few days several other cruisers are down with similar symptoms.

We unwittingly anchor just off the Sailors' Club and Restaurant, a source of loud music lasting until 3 am. We soon figure out that the place is a bordello. Going ashore to clear into Yemen, Richard meets Hamzah, a young man born in Yemen but of Indian parentage. Hamzah is a university student soon to receive a BA in English literature and translation. He is studying Beowulf and Shakespeare. When cruising boats come to Aden he offers his services as a guide or for whatever help might be needed. In the evening Richard goes with Hamzah to Arab town and to a Somali refugee camp. Boat loads of people arrive in Yemen with the hope that soon the violence in Somalia will end and they can return home.

Walking through town in Aden we are greeted with "welcome to Yemen" over and over again. People want to talk to us, perhaps to practice their English. Unlike Oman, we see women on the street here--still covered in black except for the Somali women who wear a headscarf but do not cover their faces. In the afternoons it seems that most of the Yemini men sit on the curbs, sidewalks or wherever to chew Qat, the national narcotic. These green leaves come from a small bush which as a crop takes up valuable land and uses scarce water which would be better used to grow food.

One day I go with Hamzah to the Egyptian embassy to apply for visas. Hanzah does some fast talking to convince them we need the visas today. Richard and I return to pick them up late in the afternoon. We then go on to Aden Mall and a huge Lulu's Supermarket to do some provisioning. In the mall is shop after shop displaying beautiful gowns and party dresses. I ask Hamzah "Who wears these"? He tells me the Yemeni women wear them inside their homes for family parties or for women's parties.

Before we leave Aden, Richard pays a visit to the harbormaster. In the port control tower the commander of British forces in the gulf is watching two British warships enter the harbor. He tells Richard that Salalah harbor in Oman is a much more secure port than Aden, which was the site of the attack on the USS Cole in 2000.

Our last impression of the Yemeni people is provided by a money changer. Exchanging our remaining rials into U.S. dollars, Richard is handed a few Yemeni coins. He tells the man we can't use them and he should keep them. The money changer tells him "No, you give them to the street people."