July 2, 2012

Journal notes:

• Arrival in Sydney
• Meeting our new passenger, James
• East Gardens Mall
• Pagewood Rex Hotel
• Waiting, waiting, and more waiting

Pictures:

I awaken as we are making our berth in Botany Bay.  I can see the gantries looming above us.  They are raised when I go to the shower, lowered and operating when I step out.  I meet Harvey at the breakfast table.  He tells me he ran into the chief engineer earlier, who told him that customs and immigration would be on board around 1030.  A few minutes after Harvey leaves, the chief engineer walks in.  He tells me the same thing, pops his bread in the toaster, then steps out to turn the heater on, a day after he stopped the air conditioner.

By lunch time, we are still waiting.  We meet our new passenger, Jim, a short, thin Englishman in his seventies.  He has tattoos on his forearms.  He tells us he came in on the Manet (our sister ship) three months ago and is now on his way home.  He'd been to Australia maybe 40 years ago when he was in the Royal Navy.

After lunch, we are summoned up to the master's office, where we meet the customs and immigration officers.  The one who does most of the talking is an attractive young woman, around my age, if not a few years younger.  The other is a white-haired gentleman in his early fifties.  He loans me his pen to fill out my customs declaration.  I notice that outside, even preserved, is forbidden.  Guess I'll have to finish my peanuts and beef jerky before I leave.  The form says that any wooden articles I declare must be quarantined.  I ask if we'll have to fill these out again in Melbourne, afraid they will take the stuff here for quarantine, in which case I might have difficulty getting it back.  "Nope," the girl answers, no doubt sensing my concern.  "Once you fill these out, you're considered 'in country' and can go wherever you like, just like if you came in on an airplane.  Just ask the ship's master to have them look at your wood carvings when you get off in Melbourne."  I thank them and return to my cabin to pack up my laptop before meeting Harvey at the gangway.

We have to wait a few minutes for a shuttle bus to come and take us to the gate, which is a turnstile activated by RFID badge.  Since neither of us has a badge, we press the button on the call box and a voice on the other end tells us to sit tight and someone will be down shortly.

Twenty minutes later, a contractor arrives on the other side and buzzes in, showing his ID badge, and they let him through.  He speaks to us and Harvey tells him we're waiting for someone to come let us out.  He buzzes in from this side to remind them we are here.  We thank him and he runs off to meet his truck, coming through the gate.  I turn to Harvey.  "You reckon Jim Cook had to wait at the gate when he landed on the continent?"  He laughs.

Harvey checks his watch.  "It's been 50 minutes since we signed off from the Matisse."  Two gate agents later, we're waiting for a shuttle to take us back to it.  Turns out, we're not on any of the paperwork they have at the gate, which is a problem.  "I can let you out," the first gate agent has told us, "but I wouldn't be able to let you back in.  Your best bet is to go to the ship's master and get a passenger list with your names on it."  The shuttle arrives, dropping off our two Indian painters, and takes us back to the ship.  "Sorry about all that," the driver apologizes, after we relay our story to him.  "The last few months there's been a crackdown on security to combat drugs getting into the port.  I guess it's their ass on the line if anything gets through."

Back on the ship, Harvey explains our situation to the captain.  What he says in response, I don't exactly understand, but swearing is pretty easily recognizable in any language.  He motions us over to his computer and pulls up his Sent folder in his email.  "This is what I sent to the port agent," he tells us as he opens the zipped attachment, double-clicking a file labeled Passenger List.doc.  "There, at the top it says, 'Passenger List' and here are your names."  "We'll take your word for it," Harvey responds, "but the guys at the gate don't have that document.  We went through their paperwork several times."  The captain shrugs, frowning.  "Sometimes the port agent miss something.  I have the official copy, but it is sealed and I cannot open it."  He resolves to print another copy of the passenger list, sign it, and stamp it with the company's logo.

We head back to the gangway to find all activity in the port has stopped.  It is now 2 PM and time for a shift change, so we wait another 10 or 15 minutes for the shuttle.  This time, we have no problem getting through the gate, and the gate agent even calls a taxi to come pick us up.  Harvey wants to find a bank, and we both want a wifi hotspot so we can get online and check our emails.  The two Indian guys are still waiting outside the gate for a bus to take them to the seaman's club.

The taxi soon arrives and takes us to East Gardens, a 3-story mall complete with banks, grocery stores, and a movie theater.  I walk around for a bit before asking the girl behind the information desk where I can find a wifi hotspot.  She tells me the best place is in the food court, where McDonald's has a free access point.  I buy a smoothie and get connected, but they've blocked most of the services I use, including Trillian and Google Talk.  Skype connects, but it's now 3:45 PM - nearly 1 AM back home, so there's no use calling anyone.

I shop around for a bit, but I don't buy anything other than an iced coffee.  I find a pub down the street, the Pagewood Rex Hotel, and I have 3 beers before asking the bartender, a half-white, half-melanesian girl maybe a year or two older than me, to call me a cab.  They tell her they'll call when they get close, but as one speeds by the front of the hotel without stopping, she shakes her head.  "Damn cabbies."  She calls for another and one of the locals, a man in his late 40s, goes outside to smoke and watch for the cab.  I join him once I realize what he's doing.  Ten minutes later, a taxi pulls up and drops off its fare.  The driver is either Middle Eastern or Indian.  He hasn't been here much longer than I, and he doesn't know where the port is.  Great.... that makes two of us.

He eventually finds it and drops me off outside the gate.  I notice the fare is quite a bit higher than when Harvey and I went from the port to the mall (and the pub was on the way back), but I am in too much of a hurry to argue.  I make it through the gate without difficulty, then wait half an hour for a shuttle to take me to the ship.  It's now 1930 when I arrive on the Matisse.  I called the first cab at 1830, and was required to be on board at 2000.  At dinner, Harvey tells me he waited an hour for the shuttle, and had threatened the guards that if it didn't show up soon, he was going to "walk to the bloody ship."

After dinner, I get to know James over a beer, making small talk, until he goes to bed.  I give my passport to the chief officer before retiring myself - the captain being unavailable.  He says we're not leaving until 0030.  I wake up in the middle of the night, around 0130, as we are leaving the bay.