The trip from Algeciras to Orleans, France was tedious and uneventful. I was depressed at losing my travel companions, worried about Klaus' foot, and most of all on high alert because of the cargo buried in my gear.
After 24 hours on the road, I sprang for an upscale hostel in Orleans. It had hot showers and excellent breakfasts, but my funds were dwindling fast and I had to get to Dublin on the $170 I had left. On the second day in Orleans, I went down to the telegraph office and scheduled an international call to a mate in Dublin to get an idea of the work situation.
At the appointed time, I went into the booth. A meter over the phone kept track of how much the call was costing, and I sat waiting for the connection. At last the phone rang and I picked up.
"Your connection in on the line," a voice said with a strong French accent.
"Brian?" I asked plaintively.
"Rex! You dog, where are you?" It lifted my spirits a bit to hear a familiar voice.
"I'm in Orleans just now. I'm heading back to Dublin in the next couple of days. I really need a gig. Is there anything going on?"
"You're in luck, mate," Brian said. "They're crewing up for a folk festival in County Wicklow. Are you in?"
"When is it?" I asked, hoping for a bit of lead time.
"Get it starts this coming Monday, and the gig lasts until the following Sunday. I can put you in for both loading and running," Brian offered.
It was Tuesday, so that gave me five days to get there and get settled. "Yes, please!" I almost begged. "I'll be there by no later than Saturday, if that's OK. Any chance of bagging on your couch for a day or two?" I was hoping to avoid as many expenses as possible.
"Sure, mate," Brian said happily. "We'll look for you on Saturday, then?"
I glanced at the meter above the phone. "Sounds great! Gotta run, the meter's running, but I'll ring you up when I hit Dublin."
"Fantastic. See ya then!"
We both clicked off and my fee showed as 5,47 francs. I went to the desk and paid, feeling relieved and quite a bit happier I knew that Brian could also help me convert my cargo to cash, so I should be able manage for another month on the two incomes combined. I stopped into a street cafe up the street and sprang for roasted chicken, fresh veggies and fries with mayonnaise.
After repacking my gear and getting things in order, I checked out of the hostel and went to the train station to take a late night train to Cherbourg. That would get me to the ferry dock early enough to get passage to Ireland. Then, it would be a quick train ride from Rosslare to Dublin with plenty of time to take care of business.
I got down at the station in Cherbourg at 2am. The place was abandoned except for us late arrivals. The information booth was closed, so I looked around until I found a wayfarer sign pointing to the ferry terminal. It was a pleasant walk of 200 meters or so. The air was cool and fresh, and it was dead quiet but for a fog horn aways off in the distance. The ticketing office was closed, but there were some benches around, so I sat down to wait it out. I figured I could catch up on sleep on the ferry.
At long last there was movement in the ticketing office and eventually, the window slid up. As if out of thin air, there were already three people in line before I could even gear up. I finally purchased my ticket and settled in for the two-hour wait.
When at last the ferry arrived, I was astounded. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't an actual sea-going vessel. It wasn't like any ferry I had ever been on. It was ship-shape, not the blunt-ended floating bits of asphalt I was accustomed to. Instead, of walking across a ramp, a gang plank extended down from the deck, and a large crowd of people were disembarking.
After a time, a conductor opened the gate and we were allowed to board. The plank was quite narrow with flimsy rails on either side and a significant drop to the dock or water below, wherever one happened to land. I had to sidle up the plank and even then, the railing kept grabbing my pack or my shirt, so it was three steps up and one step back to release myself from the rail.
When I finally made it topside, I stood aside to see where everyone else was going and followed them. After stepping through a good-sized portal, I was in a hallway that led to the center of the ship. I turned right at a junction, following the other packers, until I came into a large room with tables and benches neatly arranged and bolted to the floor. There was seating for maybe 200 people, with a snack bar at one end, and a door at the other with the sign "CINEMA" over it. I boggled. Along with the frigid air conditioning, this was high style compared to what I was used to.
I rushed over to an empty table near the cinema and settled in, fishing my increasingly battered copy of "The Women's Room" out to read along the way. It was an 8-hour trip, and since i didn't spring for a cabin, I was stuck in this seat for the duration. The main reason I had grabbed the seat is that it was against the wall, so I'd have support to lean against when I tried to sleep.
A little over an hour later, the ship's horn sounded and I could hear the engines rev up. There was no feeling of motion, so I glanced out the tiny window centered over the table and saw the dock moving away just as dawn was breaking over the city. Since I had no camera, i took a mental photograph for my memories years later.
As we got underway, it was rock steady. The hum of the engines were the only indication that anything was happening. Before long, the only view out the window was endless ocean, so there were no landmarks to judge speed or motion.
I noticed a rather unique character popping in and out of the cinema. He was a portly five feet tall, maybe slightly more, with a striped button-down shirt and suspenders holding up his Sta-Prest black slacks, with a dapper cap on top. What was truly remarkable was his massive white beard that extended down to his navel. He looked like Santa Claus on holiday.
At one point, I stopped him. "Sorry, but do you work here?" I asked.
"Aye," he said with a thick Cork accent - Irish I thought, a true leprechaun. "I'm the projectionist."
"Oh, great!" I exclaimed. "When does the cinema open?"
"First showin' is 11 sharp," he responded with practiced spiel. "Second showin' is one o'clock. The feature ta-day is Superman, starrin' Christopher Reeve."
"Thank you," I nodded politely. He went about his chores and I settled back thinking what luck that it was a film I hadn't seen yet and was wildly popular, from what I'd heard.
I settled back to read while waiting the three hours till show time. At one point, I felt the ship lurch ever so slightly. Since that was the first motion I had felt since we left, I glanced out the window. I had to look twice. We had left at dawn, but it looked quite dark out now. I hadn't slept, so I didn't miss any time in between. The ship lurched again, and this time I noticed some rather menacing waves passing the window. Apparently, a storm was gathering, but I didn't feel alarmed given the size of the vessel.
Within an hour, the ship was clearly rising and falling, and it was black as night outside the window. There was a strange sensation of movement, but in the room, nothing indicated anything but a steady state. Soon, people were running as best they could toward the toilets, as the ship heaved one minutes, then pitched over and slid downward. By now, cups and snacks on the tables were sliding back and forth, and even falling on the floor.
Within a half hour, the ship was not only pitching up and down, but now it was rocking side to side. Nearly three-quarters of the people in the room had vanished in the direction of the toilets. Others weren't so lucky and lost the contents of their stomachs on the floor. The small of vomit was starting to get a bit thick, as half digested snacks sloshed up and down the floor. After an hour or so, there were only three people left unaffected - the projectionist, an 8-year-old boy and myself.
I wasn't seasick, but the smell of vomit and the sloshing stomach contents were pressing on my gag center.
At one point I thought I might lose it and I stepped over strewn bodies and lost items rolling around, and made my way to the toilets. Big mistake. The tossing and turning was so bad that unflushed vomit was shooting up out of the toilets, and a putrid liquid was sloshing around on the floor. I lost it and heaved in the general direction of a toilet, almost making it but for a sudden lurch by the ship.
Feeling better, despite the stench, I wound my way back to the main room, alternately bracing myself against one bulkhead, then the other. When I got to the room, there were no signs of life. Everyone was passed out on benches or had found other places to collapse. I timed the motion of the ship and made my way to my seat.
There was no use reading and I didn't want to eat, so I thought for a minute on what to do to pass the time. It occurred to me that if there was any life, it would be in the cinema, so I dove for the door and went inside. Sure enough, the leprechaun and the boy were there. The elf was setting up to run the film, and the boy was asking questions about every step of the process.
"Ah, I see you made it. Fine, fine, we'll start on time," the elf said.
"I'm learning how to use a projector," crowed the boy.
"Thank God someone is still alive around here," I signed.
"Aye," said the elf, "even most of the crew are waylaid. It's a real blow out there."
An understatement if I've ever heard one. I took a seat. It was quite comfortable with arm rests to keep me from being launched out of it by a rogue wave.
"Right, here we go," announced the elf.
The lights dimmed and the film started. We three sat together in the last row of seats and watched the film straight through. The cinema was cold and the smell of vomit was very faint in there. It was actually pleasant, in a strange sort of way, with Nature's fury raging outside, the ship all but capsizing, and the film was very entertaining. The boy and I oohed and ahhed over the special flying effects, and the elf jumped up every 10 minutes to swap reels.
When the film ended, the boy was sound asleep in his chair, apparently lulled by the rocking of the boat, the cold air and the dark. The elf had set about rewinding reels and preparing for the one o'clock showing. I figured he was the type to rearrange deck chairs on the Titanic.
I thanked him and went out into the main room. It was unchanged, with bodies strewn about and vomit sloshing back and forth. I decided to do something that was probably very stupid on several levels, but once I had the thought, I couldn't resist.
I dug in my pack and pulled out a bag of Sampson tobacco. I couldn't afford Marlboros and I couldn't abide the French Galloise, so I had purchased roll-your-own crimp cut. Laying out the paper and arranging the tobacco on it, I dug a little deeper and produced a small ball of hash, which I broke up and sprinkled on the tobacco. I rolled the whole affair up, put everything away and secured my gear, wrapped the cigarette in a bit of stray plastic, and made my way for the portal I had come in by.
The sky was black but for an eerie green light here and there. Lightning flew across the underbellies of the clouds. A massive wind moaned through various parts of the ship, the rain was completely horizontal, and I had to look up to see the crests of the waves going by.
This is a really bone-headed idea, I thought, then proceeded down the deck heading aft and holding the inner handrail in a death grip. I flopped back and forth, hitting the bulkhead each time the ship lurched up, then slid down. I finally made it to the fan tail where there was an observation deck. There were maybe a dozen long aluminum benches facing the read of the ship, and it was partially covered by the next deck up hanging out overhead.
The waves were crashing over the fan tail, first port, then bow, but the sheltered area was relatively dry and windless. I sat in the last row with my back against the bulkhead and watched the huge waves roll past. Looking around, I confirmed that I was the only human stupid enough to pull this stunt, so I carefully removed my cigarette, managed to light it, and slowly smoked it while grasping the bench for dear life with my other hand.
Within minutes, a feeling of peace and well-being came over me, and any nausea I had felt disappeared. After I had finished the cigarette, I sat back and let my mind launch into the howling wind and soar across the waves, bouncing up into the clouds and diving back to the sea. No worries, I thought.
We landed at Rosslare around 4pm, an hour or so late. The last hour of the trip was considerably better, as the storm abated. We docked under partially cloudy skies, just as passengers and crew were stirring once again. I didn't see the elf or the boy as I gathered my gear, and half an hour later I was standing on dry ground, though my brain was still at sea. I made for the nearest pub to fill my desperate belly and put a couple of pints on top of the swaying I kept feeling, despite being on solid earth.
I found just the place - the Bull and Lamb, founded in 1184, according to the sign. Surviving an ocean voyage always required a toast to the sea gods, and it didn't hurt me either.