Trincomalee, Sri Lanka
July 1, 1975
Nearing the port city of Trincomalee, our driver pointed out shops
and restaurants which might be of interest.
“Only a short distance to the port,” he said. “What is the name of the yacht you will sail on?”
“Zozo,” Charles told him. “I’m sure if you drop us at the entrance to the port we can find our way.”
“No problem,” he said. “I’ll take you there. I have family who work in the port.”
“Oh thank you! Our suitcases are heavy,” I said, remembering all the books I had packed to read during the ocean crossing
Entering the port, our driver asked for directions to the yacht and
drove us a few hundred feet to a concrete quay. The Zozo was docked
alongside a Greek oil tanker. There were dozens of big tankers in the bay. The yacht looked small by comparison.
We unloaded suitcases, paid our driver, and thanked him for his
“I hope you enjoy your stay in Sri Lanka,” he said, nodding goodbye.
Charles called to Dylan and we climbed the gangplank to the boat.
Dylan answered, “Come on up!” He squatted on deck neatly arranging
ropes. “You made it.”
“A few days later than planned. We couldn’t get out of India.”
“Because of ‘The Emergency’?” Dylan asked.
“Yes. Every flight was full or delayed,” Charles answered.
Dylan showed us to our stateroom below and said Mia and Alon had
gone into the village for supplies and should return soon.
“Alon?” I asked. “Mia’s brother sailed with you?”
“Yes, he’s a great help.” Dylan answered.
He showed us the bathroom and sauna, and explained the sauna and
other luxuries all stop working once under sail and on the open sea.
We unpacked our suitcases. Charles went above to help Dylan sort
the ropes. I stayed in our room and put things away in drawers. I was impressed with the abundance of drawers and the nice size closet. I hung our windbreakers and clothes, put swim suits and underwear in a drawer, and placed my new, non-slip deck shoes on the closet floor. Not one for wearing hats, I put those in a top drawer along with sun protection lotion, a deck of cards, and high powered binoculars. I jotted thoughts in my journal.
Zozo? Where do I know this name from?
When I heard Mia and Alon return, I joined them on deck. I was surprised to see Mia dressed in hot pants and a scanty top. Why does she dress like this when visiting foreign countries with conservative dress codes? I wondered, remembering her almost nude attire when I first met her in Cyprus. Her risqué manner of dress; more undressed than dressed, reminded me of the voluptuous L’il Abner female comic strip characters who ran around half-naked. Men didn’t seem to mind. And, it didn’t seem to bother Dylan either.
“Hi Mia,” I greeted her.
She smiled and said, “Welcome aboard!”
Alon greeted me with a bright smile. A young, handsome man, he
looked like a suntan lotion advertisement. Tan and fit, with perfect
“Alon, nice to see you again,” I said.
Mia made fresh coffee. We joined her in the galley below.