Going home to the East! II

Our first port outside the Strait of Hormuz was Muscat. A barge was lashed along one side and cargo was off loaded. Small boats came from shore and young boys dove for coins; you could see the sun glint as they tumbled down in the aquamarine water. Once caught, the coin was slipped between cheek and gum.

Around noon a large canoe-like boat came for tourists (4). We loaded in and were instructed by the paddlers not to put our hands in the water . Poison fish! Muscat was very old, positioned between the tidal plain and the bluffs. We hung out in the shadows. For February, it was very hot. There were almost no people in the streets, which were very narrow and winding. Many of the buildings were two storey. Muscat was my Hollywood image of what an Arabian city should look like.

Our next port was Karachi. We watched some cargo accidently dropped into the water, mostly suitcases and trunks (more on this later). They floated and were retrieved. I bought a Pakistani hat. On board, the Purser told me not to wear that in Bombay; you might be mistaken for a Moslem. I didn't wear it again until we got back to Arabia. Karachi was hotter and my cheeks hurt from squinting. It was so bright.

In Bombay, we stayed at the Green Hotel. It was next door to the Taj Mahal Hotel. It took me sometime to disconnect this hotel from the famous Agra Taj. Anyway, it was a week's stay as we left the Dwarka and awaited the Pacific and Orient's "Canton." We visited Chatty's apartment on the Queen's Necklace, saw many great gardens, and the thousands of beggars. Each evening we walked the streets and enjoyed the shops, cooking smells, music, and people.

Each morning we ate on the veranda of the Green to the acting of two boys. They danced in their feathered costumes on a decorated groundcloth. The waiter tried to run them off but my mother gave them food and money. They waited for us each AM. They were about my age, 12. Two beggars lived near the front of the Green in a telephone box. One had withered legs; his brother (we were told it was his brother) carried him everywhere. This was very close to the Gateway to India.

Our hotel window, about three or four floors up, faced out the back of the Green. The first morning I looked into the street and saw hundreds of people asleep in their rags. There was no traffic and they slept in the street and on the side walks. There were deep (one meter) drains between sidewalks and the street, I assumed for the monsoon season. I had tangarines which I shared with a few people below. At first I would drop a slice. The first few were intercepted by crows or ravens. Competition for everything was so keen. Finally I wrapped the oranges in sacs and dropped them to thwart the fliers.

The P & O Canton was a shock. It was chock full of British returning to the colonies from home leave. The boat had left Southampton over a month before. In the Bay of Biscay, a terrible storm had damaged portholes and superstructure. These people had their sealegs. I was the only Yank child (there was a French Canadian named Andre) aboard and suffered through language differences. I said, three-fourths, THEY said, three-quarters!!!!! Ha Ha, said they. I said, WE won the war! This was a diplomatic error. After a breaking-in period (fists and kicking), we resorted to waterbombs; Robert, disliked by his own, became our ally. He showed us how to make these waterbombs and where to use them effectively. Battles raged as we passed Goa, Ceylon, Penang, Bangkok, and Singapore. We hardly noticed. There was a safe zone. Parentville. It was an unwritten rule that no clashes were to be carried out where parents or other authorities could mediate.

I learned to love afternoon tea, first sitting for meals, and the British lifestyle. I saw all their movies, learned how sign a chit, play deck coits, shuffle board, net games, board games, horse racing with dice, and gingerbeer. I love gingerbeer to this day (and Treekle). A powerful storm blew up in the South China Sea kepting most people below as we steamed toward Hong Kong; during this 24 hour period, I actually traded civil words and jokes with several fellows at the ping pong table. I could not stay below; the cramped quarters made me sick as the ship pitched violently. We could hardly play as the deck tipped. This led to a short time of cooperation.

Stopping at all those British outposts gave me a minute sense of the colonial period. Reading the Raj Quartet years later and seeing the TV version of Jewel in the Crown revived many of these fond memories. I swear there was a red-faced wog who sat all day at the bar on A deck and fulfilled my impressions of what Tusker looked like in Staying On, the fourth book of the Quartet.

Rolf Christophersen.