The next update will be from Port Ghalib, probably. Happy Birthday to Inbal, and thank you to Yasmin and Amos for the comments.

Today we went out of the marina gates and flagged down a taxi, asked him to take us to the pyramids and just went! It took about 2 hours to get there, in a little old Lada which really moved, through the crazy traffic of Cairo, and out to Giza. We spent a few hours wandering around, and came back with lots of photos. I think the best thing about the trip was talking to the taxi driver, Assad, who had never been to the pyramids himself! Orens Arabic is getting really good, and he can talk freely- I can understand some of it.

Oren was very impressed  with the pyramids- I had been in 1982 and it seemed about the same. There were lots of ticket touts and vendors, but they all went away when we spoke Arabic to them, I guess they realised we wouldn’t be easy customers.

On the way back our fuel ran out again, this time not our fault! But the driver just managed to get to a gas station ( really gas, the taxis here are all hybrids) and we were saved again! Then we went and bought second hand jerry cans for about 3 shekels each, which we are going to fill with diesel from the petrol station for about 0.70 shekels per litre (!) and bring in so we will have loads and loads of fuel. The most expensive thing in the whole deal is the inevitable baksheesh for the marina guards, to whom we give a packet of cigarettes each. Actually they are very nice though, and didn’t arrest the dog for loitering in the marina all day while we were gone.

Yesterday was a long, long day. It started with frantic preparations and ended well, but in between were several hours of believing that we were about to be;

a) towed away by a suez canal barge for $2000

b)smashed into little bits by a ship the size of the Hilton

c)shot by a nervous Egyptian soldier

d)thrown out of Egypt for breaking just about every rule the Suez Canal Authority has.

We set out with a very nice pilot called Mohammed, and for the first 30 miles or so we had a great time. We had wanted more fuel in Port Said, but there was no way to get any, and we were fairly sure we had enough. However, at about the 31 mile mark, we ran out of fuel, apparently. Anyway, there was air in the fuel pipes. Oren threw the anchor and started to get the air out, after opening the reserve tank. Meanwhile, the anchor didn’t really hold well, and we started gradually to drift in the direction of the north bound convoy of huge container ships, which of course had chosen this moment to start chugging by. So Oren waded to shore ( amazingly, the Suez canal is quite shallow at the edges) and tied a line to a road sign. Unfortunately, we were quite close to Kantara military checkpost, and two soldiers came running out and started yelling at us. The pilot, who by this time had given up on closing his eyes and pretending he didn’t exist, started yelling back, and things got to the point that they nearly came to blows. Meanwhile Oren managed to get the engine running again, somehow we convinced the soldiers to untie us and set off, yelling ” Inshallah”, “salaam”, and “Allah huakhbar!”

The rest of the way we prayed that the reserve tank would be enough, and the pilot screamed at the agent who had sent us without enough fuel, on his mobile phone. At the checkpost in Ballach the controller wanted to stop us for the night, as it was already dusk and no yachts are allowed to transit at night. The pilot went ballistic, and in the end they let us carry on- maybe the only yacht ever to transit during the dark. As a final gesture we opened our sails as we moved away- this is also completely forbidden, but by now the pilot had also argued with his wife, and was probably considering suicide if he didn’t manage to get off soon, and so couldn’t care less.

Only afterward did we realize how nice this pilot really was- he argued with the controller just for us, because he could have gone home in a taxi from Balach, and abandonned us to our plight, a thought which must have appealed to him, especially as his wife had rung him at least ten times. Also he took us into the marina and introduced us to the staff, and when Oren gave him the traditional baksheesh we even had to convince him to take it by assuring him that he really did deserve it!

So, now we are in Ismailia. It is a nice town, and the people are lovely. We have spoken to everyone on Skype, and done shopping. Everything is less than half the price of Israel, which is nice, and there are good supermarkets. Tomorrow we will go to the pyramids, and for the final word- it turned out that we didn’t run out of fuel, it was a fuel pipe blockage, and we now have lots of fuel after bribing the guards to let us jerry can it in to the marina.

The measurer came, and oren gave him the obligatory $20 baksheesh. Now he has gone to pay, and we will find out how much it is. I have got black coffee and snacks ready, and soon we will be off. The vhf seems to be working today, the navigation lights still not. No time to go up the mast though.

I am writing this in the nasty, polluted yacht harbour of Port Said, and however horrible it is, I am glad to be here. We had a difficult journey here, to say the least. First of all, the wind was against us all the way, and raised a lumpy, uncomfortable sea. Secondly, we had quite a few problems; a kink in a sea water cooling pipe caused pressure to build up until the band was forced off and we suddenly had a massive pipe pumping seawater into the engine room, while the engine overheated at the same time, of course this happened at 2 o’clock in the morning. We acted quickly though, Oren closing the seacock while I turned the engine off, and pumped the bilge, as usual. We thought the head gasket might have blown, and meanwhile set a course under sail north-west, thinking that we would have to return to Ashkelon. However, after letting the engine cool down enough to work on it, Oren fixed the pipes which had variously blown apart, melted or become distorted, and we cautiously started up. Amazingly everything was ok, and we turned back round. We had gone back quite a few miles, and this, together with the wind, made what should have been a day and a half into a three day journey, all of it beating to windward. The next problem was that the navigation lights stopped working, a bit worrying when you are sailing through an area with lots and lots of big ships! So we got an old round engine light, and coloured it red and green with felt tips and oil crayons, and stuck it on the mast. Then for desserts, when we got close to Port Said the vhf stopped working! So we just followed the navigation marks and steamed in,  and everything was fine- a pilot came along in a launch and hopped on, and showed us where to tie up. And so we are here, despite everything! We still can’t go and call home, because our passports haven’t been returned yet, so we will have to wait until tomorrow.

Oren holding the mast up!!!

Last farewells

And beautiful Sheva!

Meanwhile, some food for thought……

After a week on the sidelines, I’m back, and up to actually running non-stop ( really!) for thirty minutes! At the end of that time, I’m almost out of the marina gate!
No, really, I am still pretty slow, but can almost do a 10 minute mile, which is a personal best, seeing as I have never run a mile before. In fact I remember at school being intimidated by the track, which looked (to my adolescent eyes) at least 10 miles long. In fact I couldn’t even see the other side of the loop. Well, I was short sighted, after all, and also short legged. All the slender, long legged girls would take off like a shot, leaving me chuffing along at the back.
Not surprizing that it has taken me until now, at the age of 44, to run again, but actually I think I was probably badly served at school. First of all, towards the end of the 400 metres ( which was the longest race we ever ran) I was usually gaining on the field, and still had the stamina to keep running, while many of the faster runners crossed the line on their last legs. Secondly, we had no running coaching at all, and no encouragement to try different distances. The fact is that most of the best long distance runners are hopeless at sprinting, and most sprinters can’t keep up a good pace over more than 5k, but no-one bothered to tell me that, so I just assumed that running wasn’t for me.
I may not be particularly fast, but I am definitely getting closer to average, the further I run. As I lengthen the distance, something interesting becomes apparent- the first mile is the hardest, not the last, no matter how far I go. It takes that long just to convince my body that I am serious, and will not give in to the long list of demands it presents ( I can’t breathe, my left leg hurts, I have a stomach ache, let’s just stop a bit, walking is nice too, it’s too hot today, it’s too windy, my right leg hurts….). After that first mile, breathing suddenly gets easier, and my legs tend to get ungummed and really able to run, as though my body has resigned itself to my strange whim yet again, and has decided to just get it over with.
So, basically, what I really was getting round to saying is that on Friday I did my first ‘long run’, a once weekly run which gets longer each week. I ran 6.4k ( 4 miles) in 51′ 20” , and felt wonderful at the end. Oren did it in about 30′, and was upset because he has a personal best to live up to, unfortunately. ( He ran 5 and 10 k when he was 18.) The dog finished with me, and was in shock from the whole thing. Dogs aren’t great marathon runners, apparently. Next week is 8k ( 5 miles), I hope the dog doesn’t die.
As concerns sailing, cruising and general boating- well, it’s winter, but soon spring will get here, and our feet will be itching again. Mean-time, Hillel, Orens son, is hardy enough to go kayaking and dragged his father along at the weekend!

Well, I may be out of the Olympics. Sheva can’t understand what has happened to her new 5k runs- she was actually up to about 10k, with all her running back and to, and was even starting to get a little winded. Yes, we were up to 5k, running 30 minutes at a time. Now I am reduced to sitting with my feet up ( poor me) and NO RUNNING for at least the next week or two. I have been laid low by an Achilles tendon injury, probably as a result of running up a steep incline.
Of course, I didn’t stop running until I had ignored it for three days, and got to the stage where I couldn’t walk, let alone run. So, it will now take a while to get better, but fear not, this is temporary! After all, there is still a long time before the marathon- nearly a year still, so actually it is a good thing that the injuries are happening now, and not later.
After surfing the web for advice, it turns out, firstly that there is a lot of rubbish on the web. Some sites claim that you can keep running, others say that you should rest for 6 weeks. Some claim that static stretching is best, others recommend dynamic stretching. The best article I found was in www.thestretchinghandbook.com, and deals with the whole process of injury and return to running. I liked the optimistic view that proper treatment can result in the tendon being as strong as or stronger than it was before the injury. According to this site, there are several important stages in treating an achilles injury, the most important things being;
1) No weight bearing activities ( unfortunately had to do the shopping though) until it doesn’t hurt.
2) Ice and rest for the first three days.After the first three days a hot water bottle and deep massage ( very nice even if you don’t have an injury, actually)
3) Stretching carefully to keep the range of movement.
4) Gradually working up to full fitness with exercises to strengthen and loosen leg muscles and regain power.
The most annoying thing about having to miss running is that Oren is meanwhile skipping like a large gazelle round his 5k route, and has had no trouble at all, despite skimping on his stretching, completely disregarding his heart beat target range and doing any hill he feels like at a sprint. He is also getting better at chess than me, which just adds insult to injury.