Generally, our transportation has not been too exciting. That is as it should be. But then, there was the ferry ride from Champoun to Koh Tao...
We had just left the meditation retreat, and were headed to scuba dive on an island. There were two choices --take the slower all night ferry, or sleep in a hotel and take the faster express boat in the morning. We opted for the easy way, and waited for the morning.
The ferry ride varies considerably with the seas. When the weather is calm, the waves are zilch and the ride quite boring. There weren't any storms recently, so we were expecting a nice ride. Turns out there must have been a storm somewhere...
The boat is a wooden boat, in a reasonable state of repair. In Thailand, that means that the engine is running at this point, and no water is leaking. This is reasonably large --the main cabin has maybe a dozen rows of seats, six across. I'd guess the length at about 20 meters (60-70 feet) in the water.
The ride was smooth out of the harbor, which is on a river. But a small rain did start in. An excellent boat attendant encouraged everyone to come in off the deck and take a seat. We had seen rain before, and you dry off quickly. It might feel good to get cooled off. But he insisted that he had been working on these boats for twenty years, and we would want to go inside. We did. A few others didn't. Big mistake!
Inside the cabin was a bit stuffy. The air conditioning was not working; so a few windows were open to provide some relief.
It was only a few minutes before the rain changed into a downpour. By now everyone was inside the cabin, although a few were totally soaked to the skin, laughing at themselves.
As we exited the harbor and entered the ocean the boat began to rock a bit. No problem, Fran and I have both been on rocky boats before and neither of us is prone to being seasick.
When a boat begins to pitch, there are a few basic strategies to minimize the chance of getting sick. The first is to look out the window to the horizon --the stable distance helps. Another is to get lots of clean, fresh air.
The baby in its mother’s arms next to Fran fell quickly to sleep --the rocking was exactly perfect! The couple next to Rod began to turn a bit too white. Since by now the waves were crashing into the windows, they were closed and the air was getting a bit stale.
When the first wave broke over the bow instead of just tossing the boat, we learned a bit more about the boat construction. The front of the cabin had a hatch up to the deck that didn't seal very well. Actually, it didn't seal at all. When the wave crashed over the deck there was a pretty good gush through the hatch door into the cabin.
Those who began to get worried about the boat then did exactly the wrong thing. Systematically, about a third of the passengers dropped their heads into their laps and closed their eyes. Bad idea.
The wind shifted to come from behind the boat. That ensured that we pretty much traveled in the smell of our diesel engine. Without any ventilation, the cabin air was getting pretty challenging. We got the cabin attendants to turn on the fans to help a bit.
The cabin attendants began taking precautions, handing out bags to everyone. They had some magic smelling stuff that people sniffed to calm their stomachs. I don't know if it helped or not. They were also attending to the whitest individuals, trying to calm or comfort them. But the seasickness began in full earnest. Every row seemed to have at least one person sick, and new people joined in once their neighbors did. It was a bit contagious!
Fran and I were both doing pretty well. But Fran is more than just a bit susceptible to diesel smell. I got one of the attendants to stay by the front hatch, opening it between waves to let in fresh air and then slamming it shut as it gushed over the deck. It helped. Some. Not enough. Fran joined the merriment, which now included about two thirds of the passengers.
The other side effect of rough seas is that it takes longer to get anywhere. The slow night ferry takes six hours, but the express boat is normally just three and a half. The captain did his best to maintain a fast pace, racing up each wave and only slowing on the very biggest crashes down. We couldn't really tell how far we were, since the view out the window was somewhat obscured by the waves. But we appreciated that he was pushing the speed hard to shorten the ride, even though it left our stomachs at the top of each wave.
After about four hours, the waves subsided enough that the water no longer crashed over the deck. I went topside to get a view. (Fran remained sitting motionless in the cabin, trying not to disturb the temporary calm in her stomach.) The good news was that the visibility was opening up, so I could see where we were. The bad news was that there was no land visible anywhere.
After about five hours, I sighted the island. By then the waves had calmed down and we were steaming along pretty much normally. The cabin was restored back to normal order; people had some color in their faces. Everyone was still pretty quiet, but at least stable. We docked after about five and a half hours.
Side note: We took the same boat back a week later. The water was calm --even flat. The air conditioning was working, and they served free water and sandwiches. There was even a movie playing on a large TV at the front of the cabin. A very pleasant journey.
