The morning after the night before I jumped on the internet to find THE EMAIL. The email I had been waiting for, the email I had been dreading. CMA-CGM writing back to me with a decision.
Will The Odyssey Expedition be over in August? Will the last three FINAL FRONTIERS tumble like dominoes?
Or will I have to waste more time, more effort and take a completely unsuitable, dangerous and expensive method of getting to Fortress Maldives and Fortress Seychelles??
The news wasn’t good.
The email was pleasant enough, but the answer is NO.
I will have to waste more time, more effort and take a completely unsuitable, dangerous and expensive method of getting to Fortress Maldives and Fortress Seychelles.
So that’s three no’s in a row. With no marinas in this country and a general lack of cruise ships, fishing boats and rubber dinghies around here, it looks like the 411nm journey to the Maldives is going to elude me yet.
Anita got the call from her editor telling her she would be leaving on tonight’s 4am flight to Barcelona. That’s pretty gonzo. She left at 1am, leaving me in a three bedroom luxury hotel apartment by myself, everything’s paid for, check out by noon. HOW DID I GET HERE?! Under normal circumstances, this would result in a flat party of epic proportions. But with Lily and Livi ensconced to the left of the country, Natalie back in Negombo and the other usual suspects otherwise disposed I stood out on the balcony alone in the cool night air.
And so I look out from the 27th floor of the Colombo Hilton Residence across the city sprawled out below. The gantry cranes of the port are lit by yellow sodium-vapour lights. It almost looks romantic. In a cruel, industrialised way. They’re loading ships with rice and tea and grain. Everything but Graham. Stand by. Await further instructions. It’s a long way down.
Out of ideas, out of options, out of time.
The dizzying highs and the crushing lows. I’m amazed any of you are still reading this crap.