Overnight to Egypt

The fuel plan into Paphos didn't work. We were expecting to top up with about 750 litres but actually put in 1020, giving us a burn rate of 7.2 litres to the mile. If that calculation was correct we'd be seriously tight to make Port Said. Long silences and difficult conversations. As the night rolled on my attention was unsurprisingly focussed on the fuel gauges. By the time I came onto my 0100 shift, we were committed so there was no point worrying any more; we were either going to make it or have an embarrassing diplomatic incident drifting in the approaches to the canal amongst the towering container ships. The throttles were balanced meticulously.

The night was surprisingly quiet; a couple of ships, a thunderstorm about 100 miles off to the left, occasional mist patches, and shooting stars (Sandra won with 9 seen on her shift). The weather got windier, the swell bigger and no-one slept for more than a few minutes. Gordy carried on his navigational calculations every hour without fail. By the time I arrived on my 07:00am shift I knew the fuel was going to work. Our final Paphos conclusion that we must have been filling to different 'full' levels was correct.

Port Said has been everything I expected and more. Scores of huge ships anchored offshore awaiting their clearance to enter the canal. We raised the agent on the VHF then the port authorities. It was going to be mandatory to take on a pilot. As we entered one of the busiest shipping lanes in the world there were trawlers everywhere, criss-crossing the entrance channel. There was plenty of scope for picking up their lines in the props in our little boat so it must be horrendous for the big ships. The town is a crowded bustling mix of old and shabby maritime industry and apartments. Almost a feel of Mumbai to the entrance; old imperial intermixed with dilapidated machinery and buildings. There are huge chain ferries crossing, people rowing along, a swimming club doing laps round the shipping buoys, and a gleaming cruise liner docked opposite the ship yard. The pilot boat is far more interested in baksheesh than anything else. After they've dropped off the pilot, he too is more interested in his tip than getting us tied up. I'm really glad I chose not to hand over the helm to him.