Pattaya Mail — Columns

Winebibber’s Grapevine  

Dolf Riks: An old love affair with the sea and ocean liners

When I was five years old I fell in love with ocean travel. My father was due for European leave. After six years as a government teacher in the former Dutch East Indies, he was entitled to a year holiday and the return voyage to the Netherlands, with the whole family. His last post during that term was Ceribon, in West Java, at the foot of the 3078 meter high, perfectly shaped volcano, the Ceremai. We boarded the night train from Surabaya to Batavia (Jakarta) very early in the morning and must have arrived in Tg. Priok, the harbour, at about nine or ten. I recall that we had to walk in the blazing sun along the godowns (warehouses) for some time before we arrived at the pier where the "Indrapura", a passenger liner of the Rotterdam Lloyd, was berthed.

The tense atmosphere between my parents was palpable, although I only vaguely remember that the unpleasantness had started during the night when we were still in Ceribon. In later years, my four-year-older sister told me that my mother - like every other woman under the circumstances - was furious with the poor well meaning man. He had had the audacity when she was not looking to put his heavy and dirty mountain shoes on top of the special gown mother had reserved for occasions like "Captain’s dinner".

Travel these days has become similar to pneumatic mail where a container with papers is blown through hollow pipes to arrive at the other end, usually in the same building. "Modern air travel", as a good American friend of mine used to say, " is about as exciting as a mashed potato sandwich" (unless something goes wrong of course). In former days, when one travelled to Europe on an Ocean liner, it did not take 12 hours to reach the damp shores of Western Europe but about four weeks, with several calls at exotic ports on the way.

Once the bookings were confirmed, weeks in advance, prospective passengers received plans of the ship with the reserved stateroom marked on some particular deck, A, B, or C. This increased the feeling of excitement and adventure and years later I would dream for long hours over those plans which we had kept. The shipping company collected the heavy luggage, like the large trunks and crates to be shipped in the holds, well in advance. In the last days before departure people would have a, what was called, "Vendutie", or an auction of all the furniture and objects d’art one did not want to retain. Then finally, a day or two later, after sleeping in an almost empty house or in a hotel, the day of departure was a finally a fact.

The "Indrapura" to me was probably the most amazing thing I had ever seen in my life. From the pier, to a five-year-old, its size was stupendous. The ship was still loading when we arrived and there were hundreds of friends and other well-wishers on the wharf who would not join the voyage but stay for another extended period until their turn came for leave. The excitement made my mother even forget to sulk about her gown. Friends of my parents were there - as we say on board ships - "to push us off", and once up the gangplank, entering the ships itself, we checked in at the purser’s counter and were led up a magnificent curved double stairway to the corridors of the second class cabins.

As I have strong olfactory recollections, I recall the smell of tar and fresh paint, an overpowering odour of cooking, mixed with the scent of oranges as well as the tangy smell of the seawater still used in most of the bathrooms facilities. The floors were covered with carpeting and the corridors were lit with lights encased in thick glass with a steel frame around it. We passed several fire doors and watertight doors, which were of course open. Our cabin could accommodate four people in two double storied beds; it had a wash stand and a little table on which I would climb to put my head through the open porthole and gaze at the sea below or passing ships and blue islands on the far horizon.

The porthole had a thick glass cover and an extra heavy iron one to be closed when the weather was bad. This could be done with heavy brass winged nuts. There was also a hollow wind catcher made galvanised iron, which could be shoved through the porthole to catch the wind when the weather was humid and hot.

After we had put away the hand luggage in the storage space under the cots, we went back on deck, as the first long blast of the ship’s whistle had announced that departure would be in half an hour time. Ten minutes later two long blasts announced that the non-passengers had to leave the ship. Since I was small I only could stick my head through the horizontal railings, which tasted salty, and look down on all the hundreds of people on the wharf. Last messages and good wishes were shouted from the ship to the wharf and vice versa. Paper serpentines were thrown from the decks to friends down below, who would hold on to them until the departing ship, being too far from the wharf, would snap them.

Ten minutes before departure there would three long blasts on the ship’s whistle as a sign that we were about to set out to sea. The gangways and gangplank on which the passengers had embarked were heaved up and taken away; harbour tugs would slowly pull the ship away from the wharf. The space between the ship and the fenders (large pieces of wood and rope, tree trunks or series of automobile tires to cushion the ship and protect it from scraping or colliding with the wharf) would slowly become wider and wider. On command from the bridge the last ropes were taken off the boulders ashore, heaved in by the winches or hauled by the deck crew and the ship was floating free. Further and further we drifted away from friends and loved ones, richness and failure, fortunes, ruined dreams and sweet sorrow, hell for some, but a tropical paradise for others.

As soon as the ship was about to steam out of the breakwaters, the captain would - by special permission of the harbour pilot - say a last farewell on the ship’s whistle with three long blasts. The tugs were disengaged and the engines started, the first cool breeze from the Java Sea would bring relief from the oppressive heat of Tg. Priok and we were on our way to Singapore, our first port of call.

The ship featured an indoor swimming pool and -"Oh Horror!" - a children’s deck, where we, little ones, were incarcerated, out of the way from the grown ups, drilled by a bossy, tall, bony lady who was supposed to entertain us with silly games. Large nets were employed outside on both sides of the deck to prevent us from falling overboard. That was the only thing I hated about the ship but for the seasickness we experienced later on during the voyage in bad weather.

Note: It is obvious that as a five year old I could not have known all the details of the above. They came from later experiences with ocean voyages and my own career on the high seas during the nineteen fifties.

It is interesting to know that the Indrapura survived the Second World War as a troop ship. It was still not converted back into the luxury ship she was before, when my mother, two brothers and I boarded her again in May 1946. We were returning to the Netherlands, the unknown motherland as so called repatriates (my sister had left with a friend of mine on another ship in December 1945). Mother and youngest brother were accommodated in a kind of large sleeping dormitory for women and my six-year younger brother Ed and I slept in hammocks in the tween decks.

Dear Hillary,
I am a "Farang" girl, 17 years old and living near Pattaya with my parents and my two sisters. I have had a steady Thai boyfriend for the last three months, but my parents don’t know about it. For Christmas, even though he is Buddhist, he gave me a beautiful silver ring as a present. He insists that I wear it all the time, but my parents have already begun to wonder about it; where I got it from. I would love to introduce him to my family, but I don’t know how. I don’t want to make it very formal, on the other hand I’d like them to know how I feel for him and that he is very special for me. One problem is that he is kind of shy; the second problem is that he is a Thai. My parents don’t communicate with Thai’s very much and they might be shocked to learn about my relationship. Just thinking about it, how they might treat him, makes me feel sick. What, and how should I do it?

L. D.

Dear L.D.,
Some people see meeting the parents of their partner as a big announcement of commitment, and they might not be ready for it. Since your boyfriend is kind of shy, you will have to convince him first, that there is nothing like a commitment involved. Also he, and you, might be nervous that he’s not going to measure up to your parents expectations. Here are some tips to make the encounter more comfortable.

Break him in by introducing him to a sibling first. That will get him used to the gene pool. If they like each other, your boyfriend will feel he has another ally in the family.

Don’t prime him too much. If you give him all the subjects which are taboo to your family, you’ll scare him off and he might be too afraid to speak to them or meet them at all.

After introducing your boyfriend to your sister(s), talk to your parents about him. Tell them he is a very special friend to you and you want them to meet him. At the same time, tell your parents about your feelings, but also mention that you are not ready yet for a commitment. After they know that you are not going to marry him immediately, they might look at him with different eyes.

After all of you being together for a few times, you’ll never know what will happen. Maybe your parents might like the boy a lot and won’t mind you being together with him.

Dear Hillary,
I have three teenage sons. Two of them gave me a lot of trouble already. Recently, the elder one took my car and drove off with his brother. He parked the car on a steep street without using the hand break. Anyhow, the car started to roll backwards, smashed two other parked cars and finally landed in the wall of a house. His excuse was, "Mom, that could have happened to anyone."

My car was badly damaged and I had to pay for repairs. Luckily the insurance took care of the other two cars and the house-wall. The only punishment my son got was that he will not be allowed to use my car for a while. His behaviour hasn’t changed since that incident and I wonder what will come next. What shall I do?

Stressed Mother.

Dear Stressed Mother,
Your son is right. It could happen to anyone who is not responsible enough to drive a car. Did he ever think what would have happened if someone got hurt? Your decision of not giving him the car anymore was right. Still, I believe it’s not enough. If your son is old enough to drive a car - I hope with a driver licence - then he should also be old enough to be responsible for paying for the damages. Whether he is already working or still studying, he should pay you back your expenses. Even if it takes years. Cut his monthly pocket money or insist on getting part of his salary. Some people have to learn the hard way and, for many of them, the hard way is to open their purse.

  Thai Idiom: Si-riad

‘To be Serious’

‘This one sounds like it comes from English.’

‘Yeah, like that other one, ‘blur’.

‘Now we know how to say ‘serious’ in Thai!

Sorry, but no. Si-riad does come from the word ‘serious’ in English. But the meanings are not the same.

In English, ‘to be serious’ about something is a good thing. It implies (according to western thought) wonderful devotion to achieving a goal, most often through hard work.

In Thai, the meaning is a bit different. Si-riad refers to anything which is stressful, requires a lot of thought and is generally no fun at all.

In Thai, telling someone to ‘be serious’ means you expect them to act very stressed and depressed.

The tones are flat and falling.

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