Read Online Unbroken Connection by Angela Morrison - Free Book Online
Authors: Angela Morrison
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cool. “In these seas—that may not be true. I’ve issued medication for the whole crew. For you—a better plan. We will order a minibus to take you up to Rangon, Thailand. You sleep sound in a hotel tonight, and we’ll meet you in the morning.”
“How far is it?”
“Not bad. Three hours drive. You will have time for a delicious supper, and we know a clean hotel—cheap, too.”
The same guy answers. “You paying for that?”
“Ah, my friend. No. I am sorry. Extra costs and itinerary changes due to weather are outside the contract.”
“This is a scam. We paid to stay on this boat. I’m not paying twice. What about the gourmet celebration feast we’re supposed to get tonight?”
Captain Jean smiled at him and shrugged again. “We’ll savor that tomorrow.”
“I don’t think so. I’m going to savor it tonight.”
The guy led a mini revolt. They stayed on board, ate their celebration dinner, and spent the rest of the night tossed around in their cabins vomiting it back up. The whole boat smells like puke. Extra swabbing duty for the two deck hands. Poor guys. That jerk loudmouth owes them a big tip.
Claude and I stayed with his dad, Captain Jean, in the pilothouse through the night. Rains are a fact of life here. I’ve never even seen a raincoat. Umbrellas, sure, but not on a tossing dive boat. We’re soaked—but that wasn’t dangerous. The wind that whipped the sea up created the danger. It blew right through me all night. I even felt cold. Didn’t think that was possible in this steam bath.
The boat jerked and bounced. No steady up and down. We had to meet the waves head-on. Made it hard to make headway. I only lost it to Isadore once. I must be getting better.
At about 3 AM there was a loud crashing—metallic. Then more clanging and more. The scuba tanks on the dive deck had busted loose. Claude and I rushed to help the poor deck guys round them back up.
“Merd!” Claude yelled when a loose tank rolled into a tank he was just picking up. His fingers got crushed between them.
“Freak, Claude.” I yelled at him. “Ice that. We’ve got this.”
Claude rushed off to the galley, holding his bad hand with his good one—cursing loudly in French. He sent Cook to help, and we got the job done—no more injuries. I squashed a toe, but don’t remember doing it. Freaking hurts today.
Claude’s hand is black and blue. But we got to Rangon, cleared Thai customs, and then crossed the mouth of the Pakchan River to Kawthaung. No official waiting like he was supposed to be, so we wandered around the tiny village for a couple hours. Not much there except the market. It’s full of smiling Thais from across the river getting bargains. Any real money goes a long way here. I bought a woven thing to give Leesie. Kind of native looking. She’ll like it. There are mounds of dried shrimp and other dried sea stuff I didn’t recognize. Freak, it stunk, but not enough to make you puke like the reek of their fresh fish market. Indescribable. Made me want to pour disinfectant up my nose.
Beautiful morning. Sun, blue skies. Light breeze as we wound our way past one drop dread gorgeous rugged stony island green with rainforest after another. Took a few hours to get to our first dive sight. We aren’t allowed to go near any of the closer islands. Most of the passengers missed it. Sacked out catching up on zzzs. That single woman, Karen, joined Claude and me.
“How soon to High Rock?” She sat down at our table and handed each of us a fresh cup of coffee. “You boys will need this.”
I like being called a boy. Reminded me of my mom. Claude didn’t—but he’s too French not to charm any female, even this way past 40 woman with a weatherworn face and short dark hair that’s losing its battle with gray.
“One hour, madame. You will recognize High Rock. A single limestone pillar alone in the sea, crowned with a single lonely tree.”
“Limestone? Does that mean swim throughs?”
He smiled and
“How far is it?”
“Not bad. Three hours drive. You will have time for a delicious supper, and we know a clean hotel—cheap, too.”
The same guy answers. “You paying for that?”
“Ah, my friend. No. I am sorry. Extra costs and itinerary changes due to weather are outside the contract.”
“This is a scam. We paid to stay on this boat. I’m not paying twice. What about the gourmet celebration feast we’re supposed to get tonight?”
Captain Jean smiled at him and shrugged again. “We’ll savor that tomorrow.”
“I don’t think so. I’m going to savor it tonight.”
The guy led a mini revolt. They stayed on board, ate their celebration dinner, and spent the rest of the night tossed around in their cabins vomiting it back up. The whole boat smells like puke. Extra swabbing duty for the two deck hands. Poor guys. That jerk loudmouth owes them a big tip.
Claude and I stayed with his dad, Captain Jean, in the pilothouse through the night. Rains are a fact of life here. I’ve never even seen a raincoat. Umbrellas, sure, but not on a tossing dive boat. We’re soaked—but that wasn’t dangerous. The wind that whipped the sea up created the danger. It blew right through me all night. I even felt cold. Didn’t think that was possible in this steam bath.
The boat jerked and bounced. No steady up and down. We had to meet the waves head-on. Made it hard to make headway. I only lost it to Isadore once. I must be getting better.
At about 3 AM there was a loud crashing—metallic. Then more clanging and more. The scuba tanks on the dive deck had busted loose. Claude and I rushed to help the poor deck guys round them back up.
“Merd!” Claude yelled when a loose tank rolled into a tank he was just picking up. His fingers got crushed between them.
“Freak, Claude.” I yelled at him. “Ice that. We’ve got this.”
Claude rushed off to the galley, holding his bad hand with his good one—cursing loudly in French. He sent Cook to help, and we got the job done—no more injuries. I squashed a toe, but don’t remember doing it. Freaking hurts today.
Claude’s hand is black and blue. But we got to Rangon, cleared Thai customs, and then crossed the mouth of the Pakchan River to Kawthaung. No official waiting like he was supposed to be, so we wandered around the tiny village for a couple hours. Not much there except the market. It’s full of smiling Thais from across the river getting bargains. Any real money goes a long way here. I bought a woven thing to give Leesie. Kind of native looking. She’ll like it. There are mounds of dried shrimp and other dried sea stuff I didn’t recognize. Freak, it stunk, but not enough to make you puke like the reek of their fresh fish market. Indescribable. Made me want to pour disinfectant up my nose.
Beautiful morning. Sun, blue skies. Light breeze as we wound our way past one drop dread gorgeous rugged stony island green with rainforest after another. Took a few hours to get to our first dive sight. We aren’t allowed to go near any of the closer islands. Most of the passengers missed it. Sacked out catching up on zzzs. That single woman, Karen, joined Claude and me.
“How soon to High Rock?” She sat down at our table and handed each of us a fresh cup of coffee. “You boys will need this.”
I like being called a boy. Reminded me of my mom. Claude didn’t—but he’s too French not to charm any female, even this way past 40 woman with a weatherworn face and short dark hair that’s losing its battle with gray.
“One hour, madame. You will recognize High Rock. A single limestone pillar alone in the sea, crowned with a single lonely tree.”
“Limestone? Does that mean swim throughs?”
He smiled and
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