Chapter 15 - Yemen: Bandit Alley, Aden and Sana'a
Piracy: it does happen
The morning before we sailed for Aden from Salalah we got together with our friends on Vagabond Heart and Legend II to discuss tactics. We were taking the risk of being attacked seriously. Reports had come in from the Blue Water Rally, approximately three weeks ahead of us, of intimidating behaviour from local boats in the waters off Djibouti and Soccotra (see Map). Admittedly nobody had been fired on or hurt but it had us all worried. Then there had been the unprovoked attack a couple of years before on two American yachts, (described in detail on www.noonsite.com/ and follow the links to piracy). With three children on Vagabond Heart we felt especially concerned.
We discussed how far apart we should be (not very); what lights, if any, to show at night (standard navigation lights but not the masthead tri-colours which could be seen at greater distances); what radio channels to use (we chose VHF69) and, critically, what we should do if one of us felt threatened. All agreed that to offer resistance in the face of a determined attack by armed men would be foolish but we would stand close by if one of our number was boarded and maybe try ramming, or something... it was rather out of our comfort zone. We had obtained various email addresses and short wave radio frequencies supposedly monitored by Coalition Forces and each boat had the responsibility of calling on one of more of these if the unthinkable happened.
We profoundly hoped it wouldn't, had a good last night in the local expats' club, slept soundly and went to sea the next morning.
Through Bandit Alley
It's about 600 nautical miles from Salalah to Aden and only about 100 miles of these fall into the area where attacks have occurred in the past. ((See chart) Conditions were expected to be light for the whole trip and we motored off at 0800 in bright sunshine and no wind. Now, sailing boats have different characteristics and their skippers and crews are pretty idiosyncratic as well. We had agreed on a course which took us about 20 miles from the coast, plugged in some waypoints with anonymous names like Able, Baker and, yes, Charlie! We had discussed speed and agreed that 5 to5.5 knots would be comfortable. Just an hour out of Salalah our little flotilla was well scattered, maybe a mile separating the three of us and small variations in course and speed showing up as well.
We had thought it would be clever to use the GROUP facility in Digital Selective Calling on the VHF. This allows someone in a group to call up all members electronically and to switch the radio sets of each member to a pre-set channel with no voice being used. Wonderful, no pirates could intercept our transmissions! At 1000 we practised and it worked. At noon Dick spotted a fast open workboat coming up astern, maybe doing 20 knots, and issued a warning using this facility.
It took less than a minute for the intruder to be among us. The fishermen on board gave us a cheery wave as they roared by, but we were shaken. The speed of approach from being unnoticed to being alongside was frightening. Scattered as we were, with maybe half a mile or more between boats, it would have taken six or seven minutes to reach a boat under attack. By then it would have all been over, the robbery completed and the damage done.
If we were to be of any use to each other we had to stay within a quarter of a mile, preferably closer. We little realised the strain that this decision would impose. Keeping close station on two other yachts night and day for five days means no relaxation, requires somebody to be on watch and actively watching all the time. It isn't the way we sail normally and it is really hard to do, but we had been frightened and we agreed to do it.
The first night passed without incident. At 1020 the
next morning we reached Waypoint Able. At 1100 a fast workboat crewed by
five ruffians was seen approaching
Legend II, the lead boat in our formation.
Radio alarm calls were made; we increased speed and closed in on them, Vagabond
Heart following behind. Within two minutes we had ALIESHA close alongside,
only to hear Kathy call over the VHF that the guys just wanted to cadge
some biscuits and cigarettes! Relief! Dick had a loaded flare
pistol in the waistband of his shorts and cans of CS gas to hand but we really
didn't know whether we would have used them. Feeling slightly foolish and
very relieved, we passed over some cigarettes, the fishermen departed and we
resumed our course.
Talking about it on the radio, we agreed that the close formation had enabled the other boats to get close to the targeted one quickly but that we still didn't really know what we would have done had it been an attack. Oh for a couple of SAS men, trained and skilled for such situations. We sailed on.
This pattern repeated itself on a couple of other occasions and Legend II ran out of biscuits. That apart, we passed safely through Bandit Alley proper with no further incidents. On day 5 we were overflown by a military helicopter who called us in a French accent to find out who we were. We also celebrated our 40th wedding anniversary with champagne and smoked salmon sandwiches. Not many couples can claim such an exciting location for such an important occasion! I (Dick) count myself very fortunate to have such a wonderful partner with whom to share my life. Pam says she feels the same.
Safely out of the danger zone, our only concern was station-keeping and agreeing when to sail and when to motor. ALIESHA sailed faster than the others in the light breezes we had from time to time and had a smaller engine so held them back when motoring was called for. We were all getting rather fed up with the whole business and with each other and were mighty pleased when the dawn on day six revealed the craggy outlines of Aden.
Aden
Aden was under British rule from 1839 until 1967, a Protectorate rather than a Colony. Apparently in the '60's it was a thriving port and city, with shops displaying all kinds of western and local goods and with full employment from services to shipping, the Royal Navy and visiting liners. Apart from its harbour and strategic location, at least before air travel took over, it has few natural resources. One can imagine that Singapore and even Hong Kong may have been quite similar in those days but while these communities have continued to grow and to prosper, Aden has fallen back into the Third World.
As we rounded the breakwater and approached the anchorage off Steamer Point we could see an amazing collection of buildings clinging to the precipitous slopes of the hills that towered over the harbour. Some were relatively modern, many were old and dilapidated. Architecturally, Arabia jostled with British Armed Forces. The old passenger terminal building was modelled on a Methodist church. Everywhere was barren, not a blade of grass nor a bush to be seen. It was excitingly different.
ALIESHA joined some twenty other cruisers in the yacht anchorage just off the wharf at Steamer Point. We launched the dinghy and went ashore. There we were met by Nadr, who runs the souvenir shop-cum-post office in the terminal building. He bade us welcome in good English, asked where we came from and took us to see Customs and Immigration. The paperwork was minimal and the officials courteous, with adequate English. We obtained visas for Yemen which would be needed when we visited the ancient capital city, Sana 'a.
Next day we were joined by Pat and Olivia from ALDEBARAN to take a quick tour of Aden by taxi. Nadr found us a driver, Abdullah, and a guide, his cousin Muad. The latter spoke good English and told us he had a degree in Marketing but could not find work except as a guide and helping in the shop. He was one of many. He was a delightful companion and we hope he soon finds work to equal his talents.
The tour took in the water tanks, an amazing system of cisterns built hundreds if not thousands of years ago on the edge of the town of Crater and still used today in the brief rainy system, October to December. These run from the top of a mountain down to the town, overlapping so that as a higher one fills, it spills its water into the one beneath. We climbed most of the way to the top where stagnant pools of vile green water still lay in shaded tanks. Then we visited a very old mosque but, unlike Macassar, we were not allowed into the main part where worship takes place and didn't really feel at all welcome. We did see some very old coffins, richly draped in fine silks. On certain days one or more are paraded through the streets, rather as a saint's relics were taken in procession in Medieval times in Europe.
We drove around some more but there was little to see so we took an excellent lunch in a local restaurant where we sampled some of the Yemeni fare, spicy meats, kebabs, rice, pitta-style bread, humus and a variety of vegetables. Delicious. Then off to Lu-Lu's the modern hypermarket of which the Adenis are justifiably proud. It was as good as any we have encountered and we soon filled a trolley.
And that was about it so far as sightseeing was concerned. We busied ourselves with a few jobs for a couple of days and planned to visit Sana'a, capital of Yemen and boasting a medieval walled city built of mud bricks which is a World Heritage site and a must for visitors.
Sana 'a
Sana'a is about 400 kilometres north of Aden and the journey takes seven to nine hours as the roads pass through pretty mountainous terrain. We decided to fly up and take the bus back the following day. But first, the permission to travel. Even though we had valid visas, we apparently needed permission from the tourist police (!) to leave Aden and visit Sana'a. This involved going to the appropriate office with passports, copies of passports and visas and some cash! Our guide on this occasion was another of Nadr's cousins, Ahmed Hamid, who negotiated the price down to half the amount originally demanded. Travellers, beware!
A few mornings later, Abdullah took us to the airport at 0530 and we entered a familiar world, where there were air hostesses in western clothes, announcements in Arabic and English and a 737 to whisk us in 40 minutes up to Sana'a.
On arrival we negotiated a fare for a taxi to the Old City, with a stop at the bus station just outside the walls to buy tickets for our return journey. This proved a bit much for the dispatcher's English so he took us to an airline employee who translated. The fare was 2000 Riyals, about double what we had been told to expect, but we accepted and got into our cab. The driver was quite young, heavily bearded and wore a traditional curved dagger in his belt. He spoke no English and our Arabic was and remains sketchy. We showed him the card with our chosen hotel on it, written in English and Arabic, and said "first the bus station" several times but to no avail. So he pulled up outside a hotel on the outskirts of the city and found a friend who spoke good English, understood what we wanted and translated.
Eventually we pulled up outside the bus station and were able to get tickets on the 10.30 coach for the next day. Now for the hotel. Back in the cab, our driver seemed to want to deposit us at any hotel but the one we wanted but we kept saying NO ("La" in Arabic) and waving the card. Probably he couldn't read. He DID enter the old walled city, which looked fascinating, but then stopped, said "no further" and so we offered him the 2000 Riyals agreed at the airport.
"4000", he said. "2000", we replied. A furious argument developed, despite the lack of a common language and that we were disadvantaged because our rucksacks were in the boot. We got out of the car and luckily he followed and opened the boot. With our luggage to hand we dropped the agreed sum in the boot; he thrust it back at us. So we pocketed it and walked off, the driver in hot pursuit but now the price was coming down, first 3500, then 3000. We stuck to our guns, finally he gave in and drove off leaving us angry and rather disappointed. In all our contacts with the Yemenis in Aden we had been treated with great courtesy and, once a price had been agreed, it had always been honoured. Maybe this was the N Yemen way, or maybe just another airport taxi driver on the make.
City of the Arabian Nights
Now to find our hotel, the Dawood. We stepped into a souvenir shop, explained our problem to its young owner and Sayeed, with great courtesy, led us up the road and round a couple of corners to where it stood. Things were looking up.
Traditionally, wealthy Sana'a families built their houses as toweras six or seven stories high with a walled rooftop from which the ladies of the household could enjoy the breeze and the view without being fully veiled. Our hotel was one such building, recently made over and beautifully clean. Yes, they had rooms. Yes, we could have a room with an en-suite bathroom and yes, it had a western-style toilet. The price for one night was $50 US which we probably should have negotiated but the trip was part of our wedding anniversary so we took it. Clutching a key which was huge and heavy we started to climb the stairs.
The staircase consisted of a series of flights, each with four steps, then a right-angled turn, four more steps and so on. The steps were twice the height of normal steps. By the second floor we needed oxygen. Four doorways opened off each landing, each one no more than four feet (1.25 metres) high, Hobbit like except that they were rectangular and not round. Was this because the original dwellers were short people or was it so that anyone entering had their head bowed and so could be killed easily if that was required? We didn't know and couldn't find out.
The massive key opened the massive lock in the equally massive door and we entered our suite, a bedroom with twin beds, whitewashed walls, colourful covers and irregularly-shaped windows with stained glass in some panes and external shades on others. Outside was a small ante-room with a low couch and a low table to match leading to the bathroom, with basin, shower, toilet (western style) and toilet (Yemen style) of which the less said the better. The plumbing for all these amenities ran around the walls and across the ceiling and in and out of the window in random fashion but it all worked. We were captivated.
Descending to ground level we took breakfast in the courtyard
and gazed around at the
lovely old buildings which surrounded us. Then we
took to the streets, first going back to young Sayeed's shop where Pam bought an amber necklace and some ornamental pots
while
Dick looked at a variety of the curved daggers, called Jambayas, but didn't buy
one. We DID learn the significance of the different curved shapes.
Apparently (and not a lot of people know this) a sheath which curves 45
degrees (i.e. to the SW or SE) is worn by a Mullah or priest. A sheath
which describes a 180 degree turn so the point is upwards is worn by a married
man. A sheath which turns through 135 degrees, so the point is sticking up
at 45 degrees is worn by a bachelor. That's what we were told at any rate.
Then we wandered for hours through the streets, gazing at the buildings, looking into the shops and workshops, spellbound, for this is a living, working city, not a monument. Everywhere we were greeted with "Welcome to Yemen". A baker saw us admiring his products, gave us each a hot roll to sample and took no payment. Stall keepers in the bazaar gently pushed their wares but a "La, Shukran" and a smile turned off any high pressure salesmanship. We bought a couple of blankets for the bunks on ALIESHA and Pam had a field day at a spice stall, buying saffron in huge quantities for very little as well as a host of spices she had despaired of finding since we left Indonesia.
Seeking a restaurant for lunch we consulted our friend Sayeed again and were directed to the "Palestine", just outside the walls. Nothing would stop Sayeed from closing his shop and taking us the kilometre or so to make sure we found our way. We asked him to join us as our guest but politely he declined. It was not a memorable gastronomic experience but Sana'a is not renowned for its food.
Walking back to our hotel for a nap we noticed that most of the men had stopped work and were sitting chewing Qat. This is a mild narcotic, a green leaf which is stuffed into the mouth and chewed, then more is added until the user's cheek is distended by a huge ball of pulp. It is said to induce a feeling of well-being and to improve sexual potency. Yemen men are said to spend up to one third of their income on Qat, so it must be good! Yemen ladies were not available for comment.
As the day cooled we emerged from our cosy rooms to explore further and met Pam and Roger from CAP D'OR. It turned out they were staying in the hotel opposite, another tower, and invited us up to the roof to watch the sun set. This we did, although the climb was a killer. The views were spectacular and the sunset memorable. After that we took another turn around the bazaar, a world of shadows and dimly-lit streets in which we felt perfectly safe (our common experience in the Muslim world). We got lost, found our way again and joined Roger and Pam for dinner in their hotel. It was another indifferent meal but we enjoyed the company.
The sounds of the call to prayer roused us next morning at 0430, amplified by loudspeakers and reverberating around the walls and alleyways. We dozed for a while then rose early and took breakfast in the courtyard once again: fresh bread, lentil soup, cheeses and jam with strong coffee served in a stone jug. The hotel manager had presented us with several leaflets on Islam, written in English. They made interesting reading and we were struck, not for the first time, at the similarities between Islam and Christianity. However we shall never be converted. Pam wouldn't wear a burka or veil and Dick would never renounce alcohol!
With a couple of hours to go before the bus we walked into a
different part of the old city. We saw an olive press powered by a
tethered camel. The poor beast walked in a tight circle all day, dragging the
press around with it. We visited an art gallery in the
walls of the city.
The Yemen art on display was pretty familiar in style but we were not tempted to
buy. We bought succulent dates from a stall holder which melted in
the mouth and tasted of butterscotch. And then it was time for the bus ride back
to Aden.
Across Yemen by coach
Our coach was comfortable and air-conditioned and boasted other mod cons such as DVD's and videos, of which more later. We had seats about three rows back from the font and found Roger and Pam behind us. Departure was on time and we ground our way through modern Sana'a's heavy traffic. A flat tyre delayed us for a while and then we were rolling through the countryside, brown and arid as far as the eye could see. A nine hour journey lay ahead.
As we began the steady climb into the mountains the
desert-like terrain gave way to
pockets of farmland,
Qat being the main crop.
We also marvelled at the shrubs and bushes with bright pink and blue flowers,
until we realised that these were plastic bags caught on thorns. Plastic
wrapping truly is the curse of our times.
We drove through green farmland in upland valleys with grim
mountains soaring in the background. We passed ancient forts and castles,
simple villages, isolated farms and other dwellings. At one point it
actually rained and soon the sides of the road and the
fields were running with
muddy brown water.
Lunch was at a truck stop in the middle of nowhere. Dubiously we joined the queue but found to our delight the best food we enjoyed in all of Yemen, roast chicken, a salad, vegetables and bread and all for so little. Even the loos, squatters all, were not too bad.
Back on the coach, the videos started. There were three, one American, one French and one Egyptian. All were excruciating and, being so near the front, we could not avoid seeing the main screen although we stuffed cotton wool in our ears to block out some of the sound. At last, as darkness fell, we reached Aden, shared a cab and returned to our floating home. It had been a wonderful experience, videos apart.
Preparing for the Red Sea
Boats were leaving for the Red Sea every day and we would soon join them. We had a few jobs to do, provisions to buy, the Port Captain to visit (a courtesy call), laundry to collect. The laundry man at Steamer Point was a tall Adeni with a henna-dyed beard and who walked with a stick. He was called Irish and we became good friends. He was one of several locals who, discovering we were English, confided that "things were much better when the British ran things here". Dick was very touched when, shopping for some last-minute items, he bumped into Irish in the local market and was treated to a cup of local tea - strong, with condensed milk and three spoons of sugar as standard. It was the kind of incident that sums up a people, kind, courteous, dignified, poor but with great warmth. We had not wanted to visit Aden and the Yemen at all. Despite the ever-present volcanic dust, the harsh glare of the sun and the squalor, it turned out to be on of the most enjoyable stops we have made.
