Welcome to Debut

We arrived in Debut after four and a half days of near-perfect sailing from Thursday Island. The only hazards along the way were occasional clusters of fishing vessels. Fortunately, these were either lit up like Times Square or splattered across our chart plotter screen as AIS signals.

Fishing vessels aren’t the only hazard on the way to Debut. Charts here only offer a rough guide as to where the land is. Satellite imagery is far more reliable because it shows where the reefs really are. At least one of the boats in the Sail 2 Indonesia rally hit the reef on the way into Debut. So, for any sailors entering Debut – be aware.

As far as the boat visit was concerned, the clearing-in process was straightforward. A couple of hours after we arrived, the officials came over on a skiff; they brought with them half a tree of papers, looked at the alcohol, and asked to photograph our engine details. They asked to see the sink and the water coming out of the tap, then asked us to go ashore when ready and bring our papers to complete the process.

Celebration Time

The local people arranged a party to welcome the rally participants to Debut. The officials asked that all rally boat crews organise themselves according to nationality and arrive at the same time waving flags. I am not one for overtly nationalistic gestures; this felt odd, but they wanted it.

We weren’t allowed to land until all the dignitaries had exhausted their welcome speeches, so we were glad it didn’t rain during the half-hour we were kept floating around. Still, the ceremony was colourful enough – and it was a lovely gesture by the local people and authorities.

We rally participants were corralled into an undercover area on the right of the street, whereas the locals crammed into an area on the left. Looking closely at the second photograph, you might notice a few cameras pointing in our direction – this is a thing wherever we go, someone either photographing or videoing you, usually out of the corner of your eye, but sometimes entirely overtly. At first, it’s a bit disconcerting. But they don’t get many European visitors here. I’m guessing not since the Dutch East India Company stomped around these parts in the 18th and 19th centuries.

I had a problem with one of my eyes, so I was over there like a shot when I saw the sign that read Free Health Clinic. Unsurprisingly, they are more geared up for cuts and scrapes rather than more esoteric ophthalmological problems. Still, they called a doctor from the other side of Kei Island who, they suggested, might be able to help. He arrived half an hour later and proceeded to poke my eyeballs with his thumbs to check for glaucoma and then stared into them with his phone torch. Nothing found.

One of the rally organisers, Nelly, helped me find an ophthalmologist. It went like this: Nelly has a friend in Ambon who is a dentist. She called him, and he called me. I told him the situation. He then put me in touch with an ophthalmologist he knew in Ambon who could speak good English. I contacted her, and we talked for a while. She agreed it needed looking at. I booked a flight.

City Tour

Before going to the airport, together with the crew of Sand Dallor, we booked a city tour and a cooking demonstration at the welcome ceremony for the next day. It didn’t start well – the guide turned up one and a half hours late. I can’t articulate very much what we saw (tourism here isn’t very well developed yet), and much is lost in translation, but here are the photographic highlights:

Here’s the translation from Google on the inscriptions in the above photo:

THE LAW OF MEDICINE LARVUL
1. Enter the answer
2. Lead us under difficulty
3. Use the envil today
4. Lar Nakmot Wood
5 Only four keywords
6 Moryain under water
7. Hired the tub, it did tub fo it did

That is lost in translation.

Airport Antics

The following day, Tom from Sand Dallor kindly picked me up and dropped me at the dock to catch a taxi to the airport. I thought I had it all sorted: flights booked, hotel accommodation booked, taxi organised, ophthalmologist arranged. An overnight trip to get the eyeball looked at, then back on the boat for the start of the weekend.

What I didn’t count on was the weather in Ambon. It was raining so much that many of the flights couldn’t take off or land. So, instead of a quick adventure to Ambon, I spent all day waiting at the airport—past the time when the airline had to provide a snack and then past the time they had to serve lunch. Then, they cancelled the flight.

To cut a long story short, after two long days at the airport, the next day was no better. Rather than try again on Monday, I walked out of the airport, got into a taxi, and headed back to Debut.

To wrap up this bizarre non-adventure, while the taxi driver was filling up with fuel at the petrol station, he received a call from the airport asking for me. You don’t get that when leaving Heathrow. He passed me the phone, and the voice on the other end asked if I was boarding the flight. I said, “No—how can I get a refund?” I never heard from them again.

At least I wasn’t in Debut to witness the paperwork mix-up. Apparently, we had picked up an additional four crew on Jamala. But that was sorted by the time I got back.

We decided that the only way to get my eye examined was by boat. So, on 7th July, we lifted the anchor and weaved our way through the reefs, fishing vessels, and FADS towards Ambon.