Home » United Arab Emirates » Atlantic Express, Port Sudan, 07/09 – 08/09

At long last, after four days of drifting in front of Port Sudan, we are given authorisation to enter the port and start discharging our cargo. We enter the port at night. The city on either side seems extraordinarily quiet: no lights, no cars in the street, the only visible building is the Hilton Hotel near the harbour. I am later told by the agent that it is the only 5 star hotel in the country. It looks quite unremarkable from here.<br/><br/>

Atlantic Express, Port Sudan, 07/09 – 08/09

Degrubenc
2005-12-09 16:42:15

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to have one nor to take any pictures. Sounds like fun to me, and really a plus in developing tourism, but that does not seem to be at the top of their agenda anyway.

They have suddenly become most kind and helpful. I am given a shore pass bearing a photo I barely recognise as myself. I thought of the words I recently read of Sir Vivian Fuchs: “If you actually look like your passport photo, you aren’t well enough to travel”.

I am taken to the agency's offices in town, where I am presented with 10 large watermelons, 20 grapefruits and about 10 smallish lobsters as a present from the agency to me. They constantly refer to me as captain Christopher and are all smiles. I ask them to send all those presents to the chef on the ship and they provide me with a car and a guide amusingly named Mahmoud Mahmoud Mahmoud. I am taken to the market, the bank, the Hilton hotel and the container port. In half an hour, I have seen all there is to see. The Hilton’s 5 stars are subject to personal evaluation: it would barely be worth 2 stars in Europe for a dirty lobby, no bars nor shops, a tiny swimming pool and staff that does not speak a word of English.

Rarely have I seen such poverty, the shops are empty, the market is pleasant and colourful but has only a few fruits and vegetables, there is meat: mutton hanging in the sun, covered in flies. The greatest majority of the people walk barefoot, some carrying swords by their sides to signify rank or importance. I rather like the look of the swords and am keen to buy one. Mahmoud Mahmoud Mahmoud takes me to the sword market slightly out of town. It is not only the market but also the workshops. There swords are made and sold. There are about 20 vendors, all attacking me as soon as I step out of the car, each with a more tempting offer. After much deliberation, I find a sword I like and ask Mahmoud Mahmoud Mahmoud to negotiate the price for me. He tells me it will cost about 50USD. I am ready to pay but Mahmoud Mahmoud Mahmoud insists that it is yet another gift from the agency to me. I am overwhelmed by the generosity of the agency but accept happily. They call the customs to warn them, no doubt bribing them dearly for it. I am allowed to return to ship as the proud owner of a Sudanese tribal sword causing much jealousy on board.

At 20:00 hours, the ship has been discharged of all the cargo intended for Port Sudan, the usual gangs have made their last cigarette collecting rounds and we are ready to sail. To the greatest relief of the Chief Officer in charge of all operations, we have suffered no damage to the cargo and no casualties in his crew. The only slight casualty is a trapped nerve in the spine of the Bosun. He is a strong chap, terrifyingly so, he looks like an American biker, sporting large muscles and tattoos of distinguished ladies in various states of undress. Yet he has always been exceedingly kind with me, constantly offering me beers and smiles, neither of which I can refuse. He seems to have a good sense of humour and is in charge of looking after Pepe. A trapped nerve is a very painful condition to be in and I admire his work and courage: not once did I hear him complain.