Savona was the first port we docked at since leaving Saudi Arabia. As we didn't even get ashore there it had been four months since the other crew members had been off the ship. Joining in Dubai it had only been a couple of months for me. Sights of land were at a premium. The ship was generally 50 miles from the coast at a minimum, so we had just occasional glimpses of the great continent of Africa off our starboard side. The Straits of Gibraltar were like a welcome mat guiding us back to civilisation from the vast ocean. For a time, the Dark Continent remained a mystery to me. As we sailed into the port of Savona the Chief Steward asked me for my inoculation certificates.
"Umm, didn't know I needed any"
At the merchant navy office they assumed I knew I would need injections so neglected to tell me about it. My stay in the UAE was the only time I had touched foreign soil (sand) but it was enough to cause quite a stir among the Italians. A medical team came on board with white disposable overalls and masks. It seemed a bit overkill, if I had any disease I should have died from it in the two months since leaving the Gulf. Nevertheless I was given a number of injections and told I was quarantined for three days. It was a real kick in the teeth watching everybody going ashore and coming back with tales of mayhem and debauchery.
Merchant seamen always had a bad name in polite society, but shore-siders didn't realise it took a special mentality to go to sea. It may seem an exciting life, and it was. When it was good there was no better life. Travelling to distant lands, seeing new sights, climates, and cultures. When it was bad there was nothing worse. A floating prison tossed around in a hurricane, half an ocean away from dry land. You try to sleep on the deck of your cabin so as not to get tossed from your bunk, but it's impossible. Like trying to sleep on a roller coaster. This can last for days on end and you are constantly aware of your own insignificance, your inability to effect change. It is a truly humbling experience. Is it any wonder then that seamen are so rambunctious when hitting land.
It took an hour and a half to arrive and despite all the dressings I had lost a lot of blood. I knew that because I was starting to feel light-headed, almost drunk. With my background I was no stranger to hospitals but the one in Italy was vastly different to ones I'd 'visited' before. There were kids running around unsupervised and a couple of people had their dogs with them. It just seemed chaotic. When I was taken in to be stitched up they insisted I lay out on a table as they did it, despite the injury being to my finger..
I wanted to see what they were doing and tried to look.but a nurse turned my head back. In the end the doctor said something and she let me watch. The doctor then said something else I didn't understand and she left the room. She came back seconds later with a woman who had a cut over the bridge of her nose. The woman looked worried and I assume they brought her in to see by my lack of concern, having stitches was nothing to worry about.
Eventually they let me go and the city was now mine to explore. I had a couple of hours before the rest of the crew would be ashore so I headed to the bar nearest the dock gate. It was always a starting point. This was also known by the local bar owners and they were geared up to cater for visiting seamen. Due to my age and appearance I always worried about getting beer at first, but never had a problem abroad. I don't know if the laws were different or whether it was just because I spoke a different language but I was never refused a beer. In the bar I was quickly pounced on by a lady of ill-repute and though never my intent, negotiations were entered into. The experience was not one I would want to repeat, it just felt sordid.*
*it was also quite amusing.... after the fact
The crew eventually arrived - shortly after I didn't - and we set down to some serious drinking, and a lot of raucous singing. When we were all turfed out of the cells at 6am the next morning, I was still in a daze. Memories of the previous evening were hazy at best. It was like the blood-loss had given the alcohol added potency. We were all arrested when riot police with white batons came charging into the bar after a dispute. I vaguely remember being bundled into a van with the others at gunpoint but nothing else. It transpired that during the day we were being charged at a cheaper rate for beer than after 7pm, the sudden price rise caused the unrest.
The next morning we were let out but the police weren't stupid, they were letting us out one at a time at 20 minute intervals. I stumbled around the early morning streets of Genova without a clue of where I was or where to go. As I walked past a building the door was slightly ajar. Still dazed and needing more sleep I went inside and saw stairs rising in front of me. They were somehow inviting so I closed the door and lay on the stairs, falling asleep instantly. A pounding at the door woke me and I opened it to find a very angry looking Italian gentleman holding a newspaper. He must have popped to the shop quickly and felt no need to close his door.
He shouted and gesticulated as I walked past him and stumbled down the road.
On a subsequent visit to Italy a few years later, I was in a bar when I saw my friend from school. At first we just kept glancing at each other thinking it unlikely to see the other in such an obscure location. In the end my curiosity got the better of me and I went over to him. It mirrored an incident in Gibraltar (and later New Zealand) proving it is indeed a small world.
*the birds were canaries which were named after the islands not the other way round. The islands were named from the Latin canis - dog 'isle of dogs'
We stopped for stores again in Cape Town then headed into the Indian Ocean bound for the Persian Gulf. Dubai was our final destination before flying home via Kuwait and Athens. For a first trip deep sea, it was a relatively uneventful start when I consider what was to follow.
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