Current mood:	jubilant
Current music:	Mobile Bay- The Flying Fish Sailors

Rum, Sodomy and the Lash (SAIL 2005)
Obviously, there's not a lot happening in the Maldives this year (see previous post), so I'll have to tell you about my Saturday night misadventures on the canals of Amsterdam instead.

SAIL is an Amsterdam event, occurring every 5 years since 1975, in which sailing ships dock here for the long weekend and are open to the public. SAIL 2005 featured the world's two largest sailing ships, Sedov and Mir, Russian as the names would imply, (I could swear I saw a bigger one in Venice last month...) which we (S., me and a mutual friend) saw walking up and down the dock. There was also a rebuilt pirate ship (Arrrr!) from Den Helder.

After 7pm we were to hook up with friends who had a 10-foot boat with an outboard. We brought the champagne, some Aussie red and roast chicken swandwiches. The evening started auspiciously enough. On the cab ride along the Keizersgracht, we saw a posse of pirates. "Arrr!" I greeted them, and "Arrr!" they replied. They could have been Flying Spaghetti Monster worshippers, but probably not. Pity, because according to sacred FSM dogma, global warming can only by stopped by increasing the number of pirates. Still, any pirate counts.

We bolt on the motor, toss in a picnic basket filled with champagne flutes and took off. Passing under the last bridge before the Amstel, I pop the cork on the champagne. Nearly clear the bridge, too. Chin chin! It's a normal, breezy, cloudy Amsterdam evening, but the rain holds off. We have umbrellas and a deck parasol just in case, and plan to motor out into the IJ to watch the 10 o'clock fireworks.

The motor dies between the NEMO (big green boat-shaped science museum) and the POST CS (temporary home of the Stedelijk Museum), just before the bridges between us and the IJ. We get it started again, but it races a few seconds then dies. Fuck. We're adrift. A few more pulls and the cord snaps. Doublefuck ungood. Some boaters passing by give us a tow to the lee side of the NEMO, where we can munch our sandwiches and wait for the fireworks. They also tell us the water cops would have chased off the IJ because we're too small.

A good meal is had by all, until the wine runs out, and then things turn ugly. Seaman Staines and Master Bates are eyeing the last tin of caviarrrr...we might have to eat Roger the cabin boy (or roger Eaton the cabin boy, I told you we were getting desperate). But we make the best of it and amuse ourselves watching the party boat take off from the Royal Marine dock with another boat still tied to it. On a boat we're moored to is a motor scooter. We try to sell it to passersby on the NEMO dock, in hopes of buying passage home, but no takers.

About 5 til 10 we figure the problem was an overheated motor, so we push off from our safe little cove and start up. The cord snapped off at the end (not the handle end), so it can still be wrapped around the starter, rotor, thingy.

We get 50 meters. Back on open water (between NEMO and the PH Kade, that is), drifting a little, thanks to the wind. Did I mention we'd left the oars and tow rope at home? Embarrassing. If you're going to hitch a ride, always know where your touw (that's Dutch for rope) is. The fireworks start, obscured somewhat by the marine barracks, but the view is better than if we'd stayed put, and the play of spotlights is magical. My pictures are crap, so I won't post them.

Still adrift on the Sargasso Sea. It's only a matter of time before we're swamped by a good-sized wave. I'm worried more for my phone and camera than myself. Why did I shoot that albatross? The rest are looking hungry, so I volunteer to do an Oatesie and swim for help. I may be gone for some time...

Then we remember the parasol, because there's still a wind. We unfurl it and catch enough wind to pull us to the nearest boat (very Around The World In 80 Days) which--hey now!--belongs to a boating school. We describe our problem, and they ask if we've opened the air vent on the gas tank. Ah, the *air vent*! The engine starts up immediately and stays running. Five minutes ago the owner was ready to chuck it overboard.

Fireworks are over, so we make for the canals and look for a nightshop for wine. Up and down the canals; I can't remember where the Penguin is (somewhere in the 9 Straatjes). No wine, but 3 drunk Canadians on the Keizersgracht opposite the Greenpeace building. They only have a couple of warm beers. We pass by, in search of a rope to steal. We find one hanging off the wall above a sunken boat that won't miss it, then turn back. The Canadians have no idea why their motor's dead (it's got gas) but ask if we can get them to the Leidseplein. Off we go, two boats on one motor. Raft Warriors! (Neal Stephenson reference). We cut them loose at their request and they somehow get their motor going again.

And ours dies. They take off. Byeee!! Fuckers. We get the motor going again and give chase. It's a fine motor too. A boat laden with 5 people overtakes a boat with 3. We toss a rag soaked in bilge water at them. My idea is to sink the boat, keelhaul 'em and make 'em kiss the gunner's daughter, then sell them into sex slavery on the Warmoesstraat, but I'm overruled.

An hour later, exhausted but fulfilled, we dock. A nightcap, then another at S.'s local, then home. Champagne instead of rum and 3 of the people on the boat are gay, but no lash.