Guestblog Bob Maclaren
Only in English!!

Guestblog by Bob Maclaren.
Eskimos have more than sixty words to describe snow. On the red sea to describe the wind we used just two “fucking wind”. On my three week crossing with The Green Miles from Eritrea to Suez we shouted these two words every day, while the wind  hung in our rigging and swore and screamed   back at us like a mad Imam. To sail the red sea from south to north is one of sailings “wrong way” challenges. Most people avoid it and go around Africa to get to Europe .The other group are either mad, religious fanatics or drunk. My first meeting with Arjen en Florian at least removed religious fanatics from the list.

Florian and Arjen I met for the first time balanced on the edge of east Africa in the port of Masawa Eritrea. I was arguing with a policeman about being illegal in a port zone without papers ,he listened politely, nodded wisely and then fined me thirty euros cash on the spot . Arjen and Florian showed up in the most dilapidated rubber boat known to man, quite possibly dug out of an Eritrean archeological site. They took my bags, dumped Hatem (Arabic looking mad dressed in speedo’s) waved and sped off. Hatem, a cool talking Tunisian friend from another boat beckoned us to follow.

“We must to enter the port legally, then we make party” Hatem said walking along a long strip of bombed out Turkish and Italian buildings. It was searing hot, 45 degrees . Rusty  signs hung on broken walls advertizing bars and cafés, a few dogs staggered around drunk from the heat. We saw the guards at the port entry. Three young soldiers with m16 automatic rifles were lounging in the sun. Bored. Hatem produced packets of cigarettes, mumbled something in Arabic and we were through. No passports, no papers, no money. A packet of Marlboro will take you further in East Africa than a passport.

On board Pegasus we greeted each other properly. Arjen and Florian who had just spent the last month dodging pirates, wrestling serious engine problems, were still super relaxed and friendly.
“Tomorrow morning we sail out” , said Florian.
“The Red Sea is a tough challenge for a boat”, I said, “with strong head winds the busiest oil tanker route on the planet, drill platforms everywhere and rugged coral reef shores close by, you need a boat that can sail sharp on the wind, a strong fast motor and a good radar”.

Florian stood listening to my speech naked except for a pair of red plastic sunglasses and replied. 

 Yeah our boat sort of goes up wind , and sort of doesn’t , we put the motor back together in Aden with a glue gun, so if we go over 2000 revs we use so much oil we will have to flag down passing oil tankers. And the radar doesn’t work.

“But the good news is we have thirty crates of Swedish beer and two wind generators that keep it cool. First we prepare the boat “.

Most preparations involve studying maps, checking gear, discussing route possibilities and getting some rest.. We decided to drink till late in a pile of rubble disguised as a bar, a sort of hole in the wall opposite the shot out skeleton of the still imposing Italian bank. ‘Masawa has had many occupiers’ the bar owner told me , they have all left their influence. Looking at the eclectic architecture it was easy to see the history of occupation in stone. The Italians had left their ornate and grand public buildings of marble with imposing domes . The Turkish had left rows of ornate Islamic arches and pillars. And the Ethiopians left bullet holes and bomb caters.

If you look at Eritrea on the map you will see the perfect symmetry of the red sea hanging vertically above. On straight line north with a small kink to north west. On the west  coast above Eritrea is Sudan, than Egypt. East you have Yemen, than Saudi Arabia. All very Islamic countries, most at war with each other or America or both. The Red Sea splits these Islamic countries apart like a George Bush speech . Look again at the map and you will see the geography is all designed to create wind. North of Seuz you have the cooler waters of the Mediterranean, south lies the warm bath of the Red Sea. The convection current creates the massive north winds which are then accelerated by the hot desert plains on both coasts . It’s a natural wind machine howling through the religious countries. Allahs wind tunnel, designed to test the strength of long beards and turbans.

After a few days of sailing against hard winds we had our first test. The wind started kicking up to 35 knots gusting to 38. The waves stacked up immediately . We started banging our head against the wall. Waves washing over the deck. Sometimes the boat would stop completely wallow as if to shake her head, sigh then carry on ‘bang bang bang’ against the wall of water. Within seconds it can go wrong and it did. A loud snap, a blur of flying ropes, and our Genoa came crashing down. Standing on the bow of the boat, pitching meters up and down, shouting at each other in the roar of the wind,  and waves threatening to knock you down made it impossible to fix. With one sail down, only the main left and storm winds in the high thirties we needed to find shelter and fast. Thirty miles to the north west was the coast of Sudan. A small bay between the reefs was our only hope. Thirty miles to the northwest against the wind, the mail sail hard on and groaning from the pain, the motor clanking its fragile best we were making one and a half knots progress. It would take us twenty four hours to get there if the wind didn’t change. It didn’t. We crawled for the twenty four hours one mile at a time, the wind screaming at us, the waves getting worse. Counting the last ten miles down  you could see the coast crawling closer at one mile per hour. We rounded the last coral head and anchored in a small deserted bay on the edge of the Sudanese desert. It was late afternoon, we were soaking wet the boat was thrashed on the outside. Inside was  a wet and tangled mess. Like the contents of a giant washing machine. We looked around us and found we were in one of the most beautiful places on the planet. The sun was setting on the high red desert mountains of Sudan, wild camels stared at us bemused, the water was turquoise and full of life. The Red Sea had given us our first real test, driven us to the edge of what our boat could handle .Yet it had driven us to a desert paradise to lick our wounds and get ready for the next round. We still had a thousand miles to go.