The Mariners Blog

My Letter of Complaint to Choice Hotels

noreply@blogger.com (Ieuan Dolby) — Sat, 26 Nov 2011 04:00:00 +0000

Dear Sir/Madam

I recently joined the ‘Choice Privileges’ as I travel allot in Asia and felt that your hotels were suitable for my stays.

I started off recently with the ‘Hotel Comfort’ at Centrair Airport, Japan. The stay was fine and well within my expectations except for the fact that no reward points were given for this particular stay or hotel.

I then booked into the Comfort Hotel in Dumai, Indonesia. Please let me start with this hotel by saying it was the worst hotel experience I have ever been through.

Over my twenty five years of constant travel worldwide the Comfort Hotel in Dumai put new meaning to the word ‘discomfort’.

I will list some of the items that I found in your hotel:

1. During the evening there were three blackouts in the room. Power was restored only after ten minutes the first time.

2. Cockroaches were at infestation level. They were in my coffee cup, on the bed, in the shower and I even brought one home with me that had snuck into my rucksack. Cockroach excrement was everywhere and obviously did not factor into the cleaning schedule. The spare pillow which I was going to use from the closet was dotted with evidence of a serious cockroach infestation.

3. The music started at 1700 hours. You know, that loud dead beat that gives everybody a headache? Boom, boom, boom. All night. I eventually fell asleep at 0100 hours so cannot quite inform you what time it stopped at.

4. In the morning my bathroom was filled with ants.

5. After cleaning the ants away I found that there was no hot water – only a cold shower to start the day.

6. Then I found that the coffee in the packets was all glued up and like a sheet of sandpaper.

7. After looking out of the window and seeing a big rat on the restaurant roof, I decided to skip breakfast so cannot make any comment as to the mornings fare.

8. And of course no points were awarded for my stay.

Seriously, is this your hotel? Whilst you may tell me that this is not a Choice Hotel as guests cannot book online, obviously there is some connection as the photographs may help to show.

Thanks for taking this under your wing.

Cathay Pacific Annoys me Again

noreply@blogger.com (Ieuan Dolby) — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 06:51:00 +0000

I flew with Cathay Pacific from Singapore to Centrair International Airport in Japan via Hong Kong a couple of days ago. I previously vowed to never complain about airlines again but somehow Cathay Pacific just rub me up the wrong way. They have a certain knack for doing so.

Here's the first issue: If you book an economy class superior ticket you can then choose your seat on-line without checking in. I did this and chose a window seat near the back of the aircraft (all those forward were middle seats only). Unfortunately my table broke before take-off (honest sir) and I had to be moved to an economy class seat in the forward cabin.

Now (if you are still with me), I noted during this change that the economy class seat at the back had two inches less of leg room. This makes all the difference to me.

The issue here is that I booked a 'superior' economy ticket yet I end up with a seat that has two inches less leg room. I paid 350 SGD extra for that ticket - in other words I paid 350 SGD for two inches more leg room that I nearly never got if fate had not intervened.

Then: I was asked to fill out a CP question-air - this is not an ordinary 1 page effort but eight pages of repetitive, read-the-question-carefully rubbish. Once completed the stewardess then handed me a 5 HK dollar voucher, to be used when spending over forty dollars on-board - what an insult. I don't want to spend forty dollars just to justify the receipt of the voucher. Normal people do not shop on long haul flights!

You see, despite vowing never to run word-riot on an airline again here I am and I have more: no chicken left for lunch, the magazines are sealed in plastic (environmentally disastrous apart from the fact that it costs money to do so) and their seats break apart with little effort.

Anyway, I must now go and compile that letter of complaint once again.

Take your Island paradise with you!

noreply@blogger.com (Ieuan Dolby) — Wed, 09 Nov 2011 06:19:00 +0000

A Captain - as seen through a ten-year old eyes

noreply@blogger.com (Ieuan Dolby) — Mon, 31 Oct 2011 07:48:00 +0000

Am Anonymous entry bu a ten-year old school kid sums up the Master!

"I want to be a Captain when I grow up because it's a funny job and easy to do. Captains don't need much school education, they just have to learn numbers so they can read instruments. I guess they should be able to read maps so they won't get lost.

Captains have to be brave so they won't get scared if it's foggy and they can't see, or if the propeller falls off they should stay calm so they will know what to do. Captains have to have eyes to see through the clouds and they can't be afraid of thunder and lightening because they are closer to them than we are.

The salary that Captains make is another thing I like. They make more money than they can spend. This is becuase most people think that captaining a ship is dangerous except Captains, becuase they know how easy it is.

There isn't much I don't like, except girls like Captains and all the girls want to marry a Captain, so they always chase them away so they won't bother them.

I hope I don't get seasick because I get carsick and if I get carsick I could not be a Captain and then I would have to go to work."

So there we go.

African Farmers Could Use Trees to Improve Crop Yeilds

noreply@blogger.com (Ieuan Dolby) — Sun, 16 Oct 2011 11:33:00 +0000

In some cases the maize crop yield has doubled once trees have been planted. Wow!

This comes from a BBC headline report today. Wow!

What amazes me is that here we are churning out various chemical fertilisers when simply planting a few trees around a field would do the same trick - and we would amazingly help the environment in the process.

What is our problem? We have such a pathetic attitude to nature, our daily existence and the future and to all intents and purposes we are in purposeful, knowledgeable and willing self-destruct mode. Nuclear power stations, CO2 capture and storage systems and chemical fertiliser are only three of the thousands of mind-boggling and stupid things that humans see as the answer to the future - why, why, why?

Why build nuclear power stations and then watch what happens in Japan and before at Chernobyl? Why capture and store enormous quantities of C02 Gas underground when we should try to stop producing it in the first place? C02 under our feet is one immediate recipe for disaster. Earthquake, leak, ........ where is your house?

And now this latest. We force farmers to use fertiliser (also a common ingredient for terrorists) when a few trees dotted around a field would do the same job.

Although perhaps the trees would get in the way of the combine harvester .......... grrrrr.

Farmers should not receive subsidies for growing certain crops as predetermined by some continental bureaucrat, they should receive a subsidy or tax break based upon the number of trees they have on their land per square meter in proportion to the land turned over to crop usage. Crop fields should be rotated with grazing areas to allow the land to lie fallow at periods, crops should be pointed towards healthy food production with a lessened subsidy towards those farmers who sell to fast food joints and farmers should stop spraying our foods with chemicals. Pests, insects, my a...e! There are numerous ways to ward off pests; scarecrows work wonders with crows as I'm sure raising the leaves off the ground of strawberry plants does for slugs.

Sadly we operate to the principle of anything to reduce cost and maximise profits. Planting trees or changing the coal-fired power station to a windmill farm is not an option but purely the ramblings of a scary, self-obsessed, government-hating, hippy-minded, out-of-touch wildlife geek who has no proper grasp of reality on world affairs nor sees the bigger picture of how to feed the masses and cope with life in the 21st Century.

Nope, guess I don't really understand all that. So go ahead guys and continue to do all those weird and peculiar things that seriously look like recipes for disaster and I will now keep my little ol' trap shut.

As many people now say it is not a matter of 'if' the world will end but 'when'! Yet still we do nothing about it. Oops, there I go again!

What Proportion of Boards Should be Women

noreply@blogger.com (Ieuan Dolby) — Thu, 13 Oct 2011 02:20:00 +0000

A headline in the middle of an edition of the Singapore Business Times read "what proportion of boards should be women". It only caught my eye as I mistakenly read it as .... 'broads'...... but the article went on to suggest that a typical companies board should contain 11-30% females (as per a survey taken of 291 board members from various companies based in Singapore). It went further to suggest that government legislation should be considered to enforce this, although 'tokenism' was mentioned as a direct result of such an action.

In the modern world of supposed equality between the sexes it would be outright demeaning to any female to be in her position by law and not by talent and effort. In what other way would the males on the board see it?

I find it strange that a percentage figure should be given, as well as the use of the word 'tokenism'. Tokenism in essence relates to a minority group to which the female gender as a whole is certainly not unless to China we go. Tokenism as in a minority group on the board, I agree, but this is already noted as the basis for the article and the situation would certainly not be alleviated or reversed by legal enactment!

As many board members obtain their positions by the grace of family wealth, influential and political connection or hobnobbing, talent and skill are perhaps low on the agenda for most board members to attain their positions. Perhaps the female gender, in an attempt to obtain a gender-balanced board should hone up on their political hobnobbing skills to equal males in obtaining places at the table?

But regardless of the rights or wrongs of male dominance in the board room it was interesting to note that those surveyed to produce the 11-30% figure were all females. This seems unflattering to their own gender as what would be wrong with fifty percent? Perfect balance is only achieved by equality and there is nothing more equal than half of a whole, yet they opted for the lowly 11-30% only.

And it does not stop there! Those surveyed were in fact all board members of Singapore based companies so effectively, by giving a figure of 11-30% of females on a board, they were admitting that there should be a larger balance in favor of the male gender and that females could in fact not contribute that much at all?

No wonder only 6.8% of all board members in Singapore are female. They do themselves no favors.

But anyway, more to the point what about the broads? Should they all be women?

On a Beach in Batu Ferringhi, Penang, Malaysia

noreply@blogger.com (Ieuan Dolby) — Fri, 07 Oct 2011 05:58:00 +0000

We went to Penang, Malaysia the other day, 3 days booked at the Holiday Inn Resort Hotel in Batu Ferringhi, Penang to enjoy everything that a resort could offer with a bit of tourism into the nearby George Town or the closer flea market for the seemingly necessary trinkets and future memories.

On the first day we had a great buffet breakfast and suitably stuffed to the gills we made a bee-line for the beach. Peculiar really. I could see this strange but perfectly drawn line between the still blue sea and the dimensionless grainy sand, a line that defied immediate explanation! Upon reaching this incongruous split of nature it all became clear - a soldiers line of plastic bottles, styrofoam cups, packets of condoms, and anything else that could float-in on the tide just lay there, a warning to the world of more to come perhaps?

Looking closer out to sea bobbing containers and bottles could be seen everywhere, a plastic invasion; what seemed worse than the line though was the total absence of any effort, by the hotel or elsewhere to clean this mess up!

Not a beach at all - an International Garbage Dump and nobody seemed to care.

The Slippery Drop in Seafaring Standards

noreply@blogger.com (Ieuan Dolby) — Tue, 20 Sep 2011 07:05:00 +0000

Since becoming a Marine Consultant in 2010 I have been increasingly concerned about the drop in Seafaring Standards.

Admittedly, a Consultant deals with the poorer end of the scale, the collisions, groundings and the 'errors' in human judgment but various conversations with bankers, insurance companies, shipowners, equipment manufacturers and with other consultants/surveyors points toward an over-all demise of basic seafaring skills and the ability for any crew-member to think outside the box they have been put into.

I have previously highlighted the fact that this drop in seafaring ability was synonymous with the introduction of STCW and ISM and I standby this today. One Captain recently conversed to me that he could not understand why his company kept on asking him to maintain his vessel. As he put it "I am employed to operate the vessel, not to maintain it". What made this comment worse was the fact that he was British and should have been born under stricter surround, what is left of it that is.

STCW, ISM and ISPS have produced seafarers who live blindly within some of the rules that they can remember, who are handcuffed to checklists, forms and procedures and who no longer know how to react in an emergency, who bow to rash orders from a mobile phone rather than analyzing circumstance and who have diminished in authority when faced with the self-inflated importance of shore-based port state control inspectors, surveyors and ex-seafarers who now steer chairs in morbid management offices around the world.

Management companies and ship operators, the IMO and national bodies of governance will soon have to realize that crews dependance on navigational aids is neither legal nor correct, that flooding vessels with paperwork and control measures is restrictive and deflationary and that by telling seafarers that they should not work too hard is like saying "don't work boys, we will protect you". The end result being a vessel filled with 'operators' who can no longer work outside the box, who are suffused with mind-killing forms and laws and who have no affinity or loyalty to the company they work for.

Admittedly the idea of seafarers who are bound to smack other ships, night or day, who are unable to maintain there machinery in working condition and who consistently navigate their vessels around the world using a format of blind-luck and hope rather than skill is good news for maintaining a thriving consultancy but it is a hard pill to swallow.

It is also apparent, although obviously no statistics abound on the subject, that IMO and their relentless enforcement of mind-reducing control measures and procedures have not effectively reduced accidents at sea. To produce such statistics may go to show that safety and security is now at an all-time high in comparison to those years before they went overboard on it.

Security and safety will always be an issue when those being controlled lack the skills, brain power and integrity to take matters into their own hands and effectively mitigate or solve situations through fast-thinking reaction based upon extensive training and experience.

Of course, matters are not helped when companies fail to support their crews. A Greek company recently manufactured six magic pipes and sent them to six sister ships. On average each ship then successfully cheated on their bunkers to the tune of 70 tonnes per bunker stem. This defies belief, that this still goes on and more-so that out of those six vessels not one crew member thought to speak out or say something that was so obviously illegal and that placed them, not the company in immediate jeopardy if caught. The company though made the worst mistake; they sent the instructions for the fitting of the 'magic pipe' by email and forgot to install a 'self-destruct' measure once read.

On a Beach in Malacca, Malaysia - Part Two

noreply@blogger.com (Ieuan Dolby) — Wed, 06 Apr 2011 13:11:00 +0000

On a Beach in Malacca, Malaysia

noreply@blogger.com (Ieuan Dolby) — Mon, 04 Apr 2011 08:31:00 +0000

It was just there today, gone tomorrow

Who, why, where, what?

As my son put - "beauty in the middle of rubbish" (although the greenery was found to be plastic)

This Mornings Rockin' Mad Taxi Driver

noreply@blogger.com (Ieuan Dolby) — Sat, 19 Mar 2011 09:52:00 +0000

I called a taxi this morning at 0445 hours to get to Changi Airport for a flight to Kuantan in Malaysia.

This is sort of routine for me now! Not specifically going to Malaysia but the early morning taxi journey that precedes some flight to some end destination. Normally these trips go smoothly and without comment, a taxi pulls up at the door, I kiss the wife goodbye (whilst wandering again why I have to leave the good life) and without further ado I find myself at the airport and a taxi driver with his handout expecting some cash to be passed over. Uneventful as they should be.

This particular driver was an exception. I'm positive that I've met him before and in-fact included him in an article I wrote in 2003 titled "The Singapore Taxi Driver" where I suffered a journey of imitation bagpipe playing and horse neighing.

This morning as I was ticking through my items for the third time, passport, toothbrush, money, etc, my phone rang. "Eeehee, you call for taxi?", shouted some voice at me. It is not normal for taxi drivers to call prospective customers, normally they just turn up at the door. This is a worldwide standard that comes with little variation.

Anyway, I played along and answered in the positive. "One minute, lah, you wait one minute and I come, okay Lah, one miniiiiite......" he screamed, over what sounded like some aggressive swearing from another vehicle nearby. Thirty seconds later to a screech of brakes and another phone call an unusually (for Singapore) dilapidated taxi pulled up with a squeal of brakes and smells of burning rubber. I kissed the wife goodbye, and before I had even put the first foot in the driver was demanding "where you go, where we go today, I take you first class, quickly, where you from, America?". Before I had even closed the door we were off and for the first time ever I was unable to turn around and send a kiss to my wife through the rear window - I was busy scraping myself off the floor. My driver who had got off to a flying start braked hard into a U-turn that whilst was quite perfectly completed was totally illegal and more pointedly had us facing in the opposite direction to the airport.

I decided that today I would wear a seatbelt!

From the next twenty minutes it transpired that all Scots work for MI5 including Tony Blair (who secretly collaborated with the CIA part-time), that all Scottish blokes are 'players' including myself who had just left one girl (my wife) and who was heading off to Kuantan, not for work, but for some MI5 action and a floosie. It would also seem that I should be careful with the technical spy equipment in my luggage as Singapore Airport would immediately assume that it was an explosive device. At one point he had both hands off the wheel as he imitated James Bond shooting his enemies (I think the invisible bullets went through the roof)!

He pulled up at the airport burning black rubber whilst shaking my hand and advising me to be careful of Malaysians who all secretly wish they were Scottish and who perhaps might be jealous of my 'equipment'. Which equipment he was referring to I did not pause to query.

A total nut job but what better way to pass the twenty minutes between my house and the airport - I never knew time could pass so quickly!

No wake-up coffee required this morning!

Silas E Parks and The Football Pools Winnings

noreply@blogger.com (Ieuan Dolby) — Wed, 23 Feb 2011 06:55:00 +0000

It is my birthday today dear folks. I’m eighty-five years and still as fit as a fiddle. I do tend to spend more time these days thinking about the past, the future is hard to mull over when tomorrow I could drop dead, so I am prone to living the past these days.

I recall one time when I used to live for the future. I was in my cabin supping on a light malt whilst dreaming of buying a bar for my retirement, a nice little local pub where I could tend bar, when the Chief Officer called down to say that there was ‘land ahoy’. Everybody was excited about getting ashore; a recent win on the football pools had ensured that a large meal with drinks would be comfortably accounted for. As banker for the enterprise I kept the money in the ships safe. I would also go ashore with them to ensure that all partook equally in the handout but first we had to get the ship alongside, complete the paperwork and to wait for sundown before hitting the road for a night to remember. I recall the day clearly and I allowed myself to join in their excitement, their vivid enthusiasm taking root.

Kids eh?

We were berthing in Taichung in Taiwan with a cargo of coal to discharge, a decent enough place if there ever is one, with pretty woman, reasonably priced alcohol and food to enjoy, all in plentiful amounts. The ship itself was an intact tin-can, not old but no spring chicken either and perhaps I could say the same about the crew. They were a haphazard bunch, not a uniform amongst them to my chagrin but the chief engineer maintained a good engine room and the chief officer had good control of the bridge and his crew so I could not complain. Not much can be said for the cook, an erstwhile rogue who ate half the provisions himself but he produced meals on time and the cockroaches were kept at bay so we tolerated each other for the most part. As we berthed the excitement was palpable; some of the crew already dolled-up in their best shorts and T-shirts with still three hours or more before .........

To read more click here.

The Resurgence of the Library to Diminish the Effects of Globilisation

noreply@blogger.com (Ieuan Dolby) — Tue, 22 Feb 2011 03:57:00 +0000

For the last twenty or more years the world has headed towards rapid globalization using tools that are ever larger and faster and more intelligent than half the operators controlling them. Globalization as we see it shows ever-larger vessels and with Maersk Line recently placing orders for 10 x 18000 TEU vessels with option for ten more the barriers have once again been broken on global reach.

Globalization is to all intents and purposes a drawing together of the four corners of the world, what happens in Outer-Mongolia becomes as important as what happens in the Bronx; the things we eat and material possessions we obtain can be from anywhere, an assortment of ingredients or parts from different countries, assembled/mixed in another and sold to a myriad of people who might live in one town and work in another. If we were to put a religion behind globalization the devout belief would be for all of mankind to be equal, of the same color and creed, each man having access to everything that another man has and without effect.

As a world we have followed this belief and produced tentacles that reach ever further away; whilst we recently learn that Colonel Ghaddafi, the forty year long leader of Libya is under threat from within and dozens of people have been killed in a stampede in Mali we may perhaps have no idea that the next door neighbor has recently murdered his wife in horrific circumstance, been dragged away by the police and sentenced to thirty years in prison. This event would perhaps be known by millions of people as they read their ‘international news’ but the guy living next door never knew the convicted, did not know who lived next door and couldn’t have cared less so any connection to the event or location was not present in the globalised reach of the news item.

As computers and the internet broaden our horizons daily the spirit dies on local neighborhoods and community reach. Once upon-a-time trouble in the village was solved by a slap around the head, children played together and were watched and protected by mothers and grandparents as a known collective, the stranger in the street rang the alarm bells, the pub was a spirit of the community were stories were shared and problems solved, not a day out in the country-side for city-worn business people seeking rusticated cheese and pickle sandwiches with a glass of local brew. Heineken can be found anywhere, Scotch whisky is drunk more in Asia than back home and the Americans are starting to assume that Newcastle Brown Ale is in fact an American product.

Egyptian unrest causes fuel prices to rise. Barclays Bank of the UK gets more than 70% of its business from the international markets and Japanese Whaling in the Antarctic receives more headline news than the plight of the fishing industries in home waters.

The world today is acutely chronic. As globalization expands so do cultures and individualism diminish in equal proportions. We are currently faced with the knowledge that one day we will run out of the essential ingredients to survival; stories abound of flooding, polluted waters, endemic spread of communicable diseases, terrorism and hatred of others and against this backdrop we continue to diminish the resources that we rely on without placing serious effort to find alternatives.

It is easy to dwell on the effects of globalization and the downhill path its effects have on the world and its survival but aside from earths ever-closer demise the effects of globalization are perhaps best drawn by the life that we lead and how it integrates (or lack of therein) with those closest to us. Globalization is the damper to community spirit. Libraries in most developed countries suffer from a lack of customers. Community centers are regarded as rehabilitation centre’s for youth offenders and places to avoid by those who wear spectacles or white socks. The local policeman (who quite possibly could have been the guy living next door) probably has no clue who lives in his neighborhood as he trundles to work each day in a central and all-encompassing police station that shouts out “no community spirit here”.

Libraries are falling by the wayside leaving no central place for localization in many cities and towns around the world. The essential and qualified librarians are drifting off into other jobs as their services are no longer required by governments who see the libraries as cost reduction areas. And these staff will be sorely missed; from individuals who took the job because they care about the written word to those who felt the library was a way to reach out to the community, their care and attention is receding and will valuable service will be lost forever.

In an effort to reduce the effects of globalization and as a start to patching the effects it has produced the resurgence of the local library is paramount, not as a reading refuge nor as a game station for Internet crazed children whose mothers need to do some shopping but as the focal point of the community, a learning and educational centre that emphasizes the necessity of looking after those within and not the poor of sub-Saharan Africa or the Panda in China. Globalization makes us feel guilty of situations and events a thousand miles away, we give aid but this is seriously misappropriated and has little desired effect except to assuage our feelings; the little boy down the road who is being harassed by a glue sniffing dope-head receives little comment or shrift and he is disqualified as being a menace and a problem for the government not the individual.

The community centre (library) should be the place of learning, a modern facility that encompasses the place to read, to compute, to drink coffee, to learn, to swap stories and to do good for the local area and by no means the least to participate in sporting activities that are not reserved for muscle-bound aggressors or over-paid bankers daughters with a figure to keep but as a place for all.

From the Community centre is born the resurgence of localization, home made goods, local stories and events, local news items and the caring and attention given to those next door. Instead of the neighbors being icons on the computer screen they become real, stories swapped over garden fences, recipes shared and protection built for those within the community. And from the community is brought the awareness and the learning, the correction to our materialistic purge of the earth, and perhaps we would once again be allowed to see clearly and to do something about our failing planet.

The resurgence of the library as a proper all-encompassing community centre is about the best hope we have.

Life as a Ships Superintendent and why the job Sucked

noreply@blogger.com (Ieuan Dolby) — Fri, 31 Dec 2010 11:27:00 +0000

When I was sailing at sea as an engineer a hairdresser asked me what I do. So I replied “I am an engineer in the merchant navy”. A long silence ensued whilst the cogs turned and then she returned with “so what do you do when you are not fighting”. I replied with “we play cards”.

For the last three and more years I was a ships superintendent before I recently moved on and up the ladder to become a Marine Consultant based in Singapore. For three-years a myriad of people that I met never understood what it was that I did and turned the usual dull-grey look of non-comprehension as soon as I tried to explain.

I used to explain with:

1. I maintain a link between the ship and the shore. They typically reply with “but don’t they have a telephone and such-like nowadays? Or “so you do whatever the captain wants like an agent?

2. I troubleshoot problems and find solutions. They typically reply with “but don’t they have a chief engineer”? Or “so you help the captain to find the problem”?

3. I look after the ship and make sure that it sails in a safe, secure and environmentally friendly manner! They typically reply with “oh” or “so why do you have to travel so much”.

I eventually gave up trying. I imagine it is a bit like trying to explain to a donkey that if it went faster it would get there earlier!

There is no set answer. There is no pat all-conclusive, in a nutshell job description that builds immediate pictures in people’s minds. Yes, a hairdresser’s cuts hair and talk inanely, a soldier trains to fight and then sometimes fights and dies, a pilot flies planes and sometimes walks up and down to the aisle to publicly groom his feathers (and so he should) and well, a superintendent, well, he erm, he ah, yes, interesting question, I think he superintends.

Recently, in my new job as a consultant I met another Superintendent and I was immediately struck by how ill he looked. He was doing a ships docking, the repair period in which the ship is taken out of the water, and over the course of the six weeks period I met him perhaps once a week and I could see him being worn down – chipped at by an invisible hammer. He smoked continuously, his eyes got redder and redder, his legs could hardly support him at the end he was a shell of the man he once was - he nearly cried with relief as the ship finally sailed over the horizon without him.

The job is all-encompassing. Ships are highly technical and are governed by laws that not only stem from national output but also international, visited countries, owners and charterers. The crews are typically not of the same nationality with each other or the company and the ship tends to be either at sea or in a foreign port when everything goes pear-shaped, not just around the corner. Ships work 24 hours a day and the ocean can cause allot of commotion! A conditions to become a superintendent is not formed from having once seen a ship sail past, a superintendent needs to have been at sea, to be technically knowledgeable and to be pro-active when time is found but certainly to be very reactionary.

Patience is a virtue, speed is of the essence and an immediate ability to listen at the right moment and to completely ignore at another are all essential ingredients for a continued career.

The management ashore use the superintendent as their eyes and ears for the vessel. If something goes wrong they call the superintendent using their speed dials. If something happens on the ship the crew call their superintendents first, be it on speed dial, satellite phone or by pigeon if all else is failing.

If the cook decides to chase after the second engineer with a meat cleaver instead of chopping up the beef like he normally does then the superintendent’s phone rings. He must find a solution in-between coping with the management ashore who ring every ten seconds and who suggest solutions that only confuse the situation (is the cook allowed to have a meat cleaver on-board?). If the engine fails as the ship is leaving port and the ship smacks into a gas tanker then the superintendent must have the foresight to wear oven gloves as he answers the phone.

I remember one fine Christmas evening when a master called me on his satellite phone. He said “I’ve dropped the anchor”. I immediately replied with “yes, well done, why are you telling me”? It transpired that he had dropped the anchor right to the bitter end in three miles or more depth of water with an outside temperature of minus twenty. This was the only time that I lost my temper, I suppose because it was Christmas Eve but it was simply the whole stupidity of the situation – what did he expect me to do about it? Fly a helicopter out, jump in my personal submarine? He ruined my Christmas – he was inept yet by simply calling me on the phone he shifted the worry and responsibility onto my shoulders despite the fact that there was absolutely nothing that I could do to help him.

A superintendent will always answer the phone. He will offer solutions, he will listen to the invariably panicked and non-native English speaking master and/or chief engineer and whilst they are hammering away he will build a mental picture of where the ship is, what the cargo the ship is carrying, what dangers are lurking for the vessel and on-top of all that start to dream up possible scenarios for solution – whatever the disaster maybe. He will add to the picture with memorised data; horsepower of the engine; number of ballast tanks; type of steering gear; height of keel to mast; deadweight of the vessel; number of crew on-board and by the time he puts the phone down he will have an active plan to initiate a solution. And then invariably once the dust has settled he will jump on a plane to wherever the ship maybe and mop up the mess, be it smoothing things over with local authorities, paying bribes to corrupt officials to brush problems under the carpet or to arrange permanent overhaul and repair to some damaged equipment far up the Amazon river and without recourse to a spanner.

A superintendent is not always coping with disaster. There is some manner of routine to the position in which he monitors the vessels mechanical and budgetary progress, suggesting improvements, ensuring that spares are ordered and received in timely manner and of course ensuring that dry dockings are arranged and undertaken at the correct times and within budgets. But even here, when the dry docking actually occurs, the superintendent once again becomes the half-way house, the crew calling centre and the dry dock management shoulder to cry on as they mess some job up or delays plague the vessel.

A superintendent’s job lacks routine. It is a stressful job and one that can wear any normal human being down like sandpaper to an apple. It can though be heart-warming as well. To solve problems, to see a broken ship once again sailing, to find out that the repairs have been below budget, to see captains and chiefs smile when all is back to normal and to see the fruits of the labour the job is without doubt the icing on a very soggy, non-rising, stale and over-salted lump of cake.

The real highlight of the job is when the superintendent is actually able (between all the phones ringing) to be pro-active and to make something better on the ships (or ashore) that helps the crew in their job and that ensures that he receives one less-pathetic phone call further down the line. And undoubtedly, to visit a ship that is working well and to see a happy and cohesive unit in command is without doubt the icing on the cake. Sadly this does not happen very often.

The superintendent sees the sharp end and perhaps the grimy side of the business. He is of course ultimately responsible for a vessel and so will come from a marine background, not only to build the respect required from the vessels crew but to be able to talk to them and gain immediate understanding of problems without daft questions being sprouted forth or misunderstandings growing to unimaginable bean-stalk like proportions. But he must also and most importantly be able to counter-attack possible wrongly built pictures by the shore-based management (who are mostly not practically-minded enough to the extent that they are nothing more than a hindrance) and to do this in a non-offending way brought on by complete authority (rising conflict does not help) and showing of being in complete command of the situation.

The best superintendents are engineers who have sailed up the ranks for many years to Chief Engineer and who have moved ashore to climb another rank of the ladder, who perhaps want more from life and who want to be with the family more often. The problem here though is that the salary is typically abysmal. A taxi driver in London who works a normal day earns more than a superintendent and shipping companies get away with it through reliance on the fact that chief engineers wanting to move ashore are a dime a dozen. And sadly superintendents have no common connection, no union to fight the cause so ……… a pay cut, oh, all right then!

A good Superintendent, given the leeway and the scope to look after his ships (which admittedly never happens) will produce economically viable platform’s for the company to make money on whilst conversely a poor superintendent will bring a ships budget to the next colour after red and all is brushed off as poor crew, a bad chief engineer, rising costs of spares and market variables.

In the three years as a superintendent I was never able to be fruitfully pro-active. Many of the ideas that I came up with to better the operational aspect of a vessel were dismissed by non-seafaring ranks in the office (it had to be them not me) and by seafaring ranks who hated to see somebody else have an idea that was not generated from behind a desk. I know that I did a good job – I saw the budget figures, I saw my vessels problem’s reducing and I have remained friends with many of the masters and chief engineers on-board who appreciated my never-ending assistance and ability to listen when the occasion demanded. I never shouted, I was always there for them! I have no reason to justify myself or my output; I would though suggest that many desk-bound managers would have to justify theirs.

After three years I decided that the office would never listen, that my salary was not going to rise above that of a deep-sea second engineer and that all companies are tarred with the very same brush. A change of career had to be looked at. This decision was enforced one day when I was invited to attend an office party to celebrate the opening up of the new offices. The managing director phoned down and I ended up being the chosen one to put a nail in the wall so that they could hang some (inanely expensive) picture on it. On that day I lost all respect for the management, I knew that they had categorised me as the handy-man, the hired help with a boiler suit on and so there was really no option left but to move on. I certainly could not join them.

It took a while but now I am now a Marine Consultant. My office does not suit pictures.

Perhaps I will now be talked down to by Marine Lawyers who will regard me as the boiler-suit wearing hired-help but at least I might get paid more than a superintendent gets, not much but enough to make the hard work and the endless travel bearable.

NEW YEAR in HAI PHONG VIETNAM

noreply@blogger.com (Ieuan Dolby) — Fri, 31 Dec 2010 10:10:00 +0000

It is 1700 hours on the 31^st December 2010 and I am in Hai Phong, Veitnam waiting for a ship to come in.

It is a strange feeling I have when considering the fact that over the last forty years or so and since I was first able to grasp that fact that clocks went round and that most people got blitzed on cheap wine at this exact time of the year, I am sitting here all alone and in a hotel that might only have only one other guest apart from myself.

I am imagining the evening ahead and the countdown to midnight. I will probably have something to eat shortly, an offering from the menu (spaghetti bolognaise perhaps?) and a glass of Heineken. I finished my last novel on the plane here; so a movie later? They like to voice-over movies here – western films have two sound tracks, one in Vietnamese narration the other with the original voices behind. It is possible to understand the English soundtrack but it does give headache as the ears work overtime. But HBO and Star World Channels are normal – perhaps I can watch RoboCop 11 or a Japanese Manja cartoon - yikes?

My feelings are certainly strange. I changed my job to spend more time with my family but …….. anyway, two years I say and then time to move on ……… but here and now I will simply enjoy the silence and the smiles of the Vietnamese (who consider me as a guest of honour as the other guest is a recluse) and spend the last day of this year sober and in bed before 10pm.

Tomorrow the ship comes in, I will do a survey/inspection and then be home on the 2^nd January 2011 – slightly late but I never did have any resolutions anyway except that one that I never manage – to be home for New Year.

Waiter – service please!

The Best Western Pearl River Hotel, Hai Phong in Vietnam

noreply@blogger.com (Ieuan Dolby) — Fri, 31 Dec 2010 04:45:00 +0000

I am sitting in the Pearl River Hotel (Best Western) in Hai Phong, Vietnam wiaiting for a ship to come in. It is seasonally cold at 22 degrees (gets a little nippy in the evenings) and oh, so very quiet. So far I am the only patron of the establishment. Maybe a tour bus will pull up shortly and disgorge thirty red-faced and overweight Americans who will then proceed to noisily ruin all that was good, but I doubt it. It is perhaps poignant to state that Western New Year is just around the corner so apart from a couple of stray hippy nomads from Australia (and they prefer rock bottom priced wooden sheds for the night – can’t score in a good hotel now can we?) the tourism industry grinds to a halt.

When I checked in I was greeted by no less than four staff members who obviously welcomed the interruption to an otherwise undisturbed day. The restaurant where I am sitting now for a beer was silent, I’m sure I detected a layer of dust on the tables and no other customer looks to enter any time soon. I feel that the staff should be tipping me for gracing the place with my presence!

The hotel is very nice indeed. It is set back from Hai Phong in what looks to be like a “posh” residential area (the streets are tarmacked) and it is oh, so quiet outside too. Except that is for the house that is being built opposite. It is a quiet build, nothing metal or noisy about it and so it does not ruin the atmosphere and in fact gives life to the place.

The breakfast was included into the price. I expected it would be off-the-menu but they went to the enormous effort of putting out the buffet but it was obvious that it was only for me. There were four strips of bacon neatly laid out in the tureen, an incy-wincy bowl of baked beans (34 in total), the orange juice level in the enormous container was well, residing at the bottom and I had to lean the contraption precariously close to the edge to get anything to come out. Wow, they had everything there, all in miniature and right down to the extremely small French Loaf!

Nice hotel, pleasant and extremely friendly staff but wow, they must be bored.

A Return to the Rex Hotel, Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam

noreply@blogger.com (Ieuan Dolby) — Thu, 30 Dec 2010 00:37:00 +0000

It is perhaps unusual for me to be in Vietnam before Christmas and again immediately after Christmas but that is beside the point. Suffice it to say that this year I managed to get home to be with my family on Christmas day but an urgent job arose that took me back North soon after.

Anyway, the point of this entry is to say that I am sitting in the lobby of the Rex Hotel after a hard mornings work whilst munching on some replica of a fast-food chain (a repeat prescription) .............. they've gone and put an enormous carpet under the tables now. No more strangled-cat noises if they move them yet I would have thought harder to do so - they would need to be lifted up.

I would though like to mention that the removal of the Santas (Christmas Spirit now gone) must have also allowed them to shift the Piano and the tables completely around to create another design effect.

The Piano Player was also new and not quite as good as good as the last!

The Piano Player and I at the Rex Hotel, Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam

noreply@blogger.com (Ieuan Dolby) — Wed, 22 Dec 2010 02:53:00 +0000

I am in the Rex Hotel in Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam. It is a very fine establishment, slightly reminiscent of the Colonial Era (not that I was there) with more staff than rooms to cater to every whim of the un-assorted patrons. A great hotel with history and a pleasure to stay at!

I was sitting in the lobby cafe after a hard mornings work. I ordered a beer from a very nicely dressed yet extremely thin lady who poured the whole Heineken into my glass is one fell swoop. Luckily she turned away before the beer frothed over onto the table as I was in no mood for profuse apologies from twenty upset waitresses and forty hands mopping me dry.

Anyway, a very pretty lady was serenading the atmosphere with some chirpy piano playing. She played very well indeed but to little applause, apart from some passing tourists who had perhaps had imbibed a few too many drinks or were from America. I was eating a rare Ceaser Salad and an enormous plate of McDonalds look-a-like French Fries - just what the Doctor ordered - and passed the time in companionable (with the piano player) contemplation of life.

It seems that the Rex hotel has recently undergone a series of renovations and the lobby was the last to be finished with only the little things to be pieced together again. The large Santa’s had been moved outward and all that remained was for the fancy dividing bamboo railings to be placed between the lobby and the cafe and for some tables to be straightened out and into some sort of invisible regimental order. The waiter attacked the table first. He creaked and scratched the table in a somewhat embarrassed scraping shuffle about two inches away from the piano. The sound must have grated on the piano player who missed the beat temporarily but she quickly recovered her poise and continued onwards - a superb recovery!

Finally after much nerve-jangling, the table was in a satisfactory position and the waiter air-brushed an invisible speck of dust away before disappearing from sight.

I was debating whether to have some chilli sauce with the chips whilst appreciating the fact that the strong flavour might deteriorate away from the more delicate and subtle flavour of the roma lettuce when a waitress came along and clucked (I'm sure I heard this annoyance over the once again perfect piano music) and proceeded to shuffle the table two inches across the marble floor and back towards the piano. This movement once again created a cacophony of screeching and cat-like wailing that had the piano player playing faster than she had ever played in her life. Her delicate fingers were tripping over themselves in some sort of effort to compete – a live musical production of the Beauty and the Beast!

Silence at last returned. I eventually calmed my nerves down enough to be able to muse over the fact that endeavours that are done surreptitiously (in an effort to be unnoticeably quiet) are usually far worse than those done quickly! One quick and rapid table shuffle would probably have gone unnoticed - five minutes of achingly-loud, dry heavy wood scraping against solid and unforgiving marble grated heavily on the nerves. But they thought they were doing a good job, one that nobody was aware of so "let them be".

As I was supping on a second beer with thoughts to retire for an afternoon nap (brought about my previous hard work that morning) a waitress and a waiter (not the same ones) snuck out from behind a pillar and proceeded to completely re-arrange the table by splitting it up into two pieces and turning them to a 45 degree angle to the piano! This time it was worse than a strangled cat. This was an orgy of strangled cats! The poor piano player looked at me (our first and only contact), I shook my head and she stood up and walked away! I clapped silently for her effort.

Anyway, apart from the stretched-out noise opera I had an enjoyable lunch. The lobby was well decorated and certain effort had been placed on Christmas with white Santa’s at every corner and tastefully adorned Christmas trees to give spirit to the occasion. The hotel is a luxury for any tourist and I would gladly stay there again. The noise was simply something that was unusual, the culprits simply doing their job and doing it well and in the process giving me something to write about.

Funny thing though; as I was checking out of the hotel I passed the lobby cafe and happened to notice that the table had been moved again. I did not have a tape measure handy but it looked as if it had been placed back into the original position - just a little too close to the piano I thought.

The Bemused Frenchman

noreply@blogger.com (Ieuan Dolby) — Tue, 24 Aug 2010 19:32:00 +0000

I am in Honfluer, Northern France visiting a vessel. I am staying at the Mercure Hotel in the city centre, a small but comfortable chain establishment situated near the centre of this picturesque and village-like little town. Also staying at this hotel is a colleague of mine, a 59yr old bearded and freindly guy. There is also a Frenchman staying at this hotel.

I agreed to meet my colleague (we shall call him Tim) for breakfast at 0730hrs before heading off to the ship at 8am. Unfortuately, I had perhaps imbibed one too many beers the night before and so our breakfast meet started with a little confusion. Tim was already sitting at a table muching away by the time I got my act together and out of my room. I said "good morning" to him before heading for the buffet to load up with bread and some much needed liquids! I them proceeded to plonk myself down and to dig in with gusto. I knew I was mumbling away, something inane perhaps, I'm not sure what but it was, as far as I recall they were mumblings that required no answer.

Anyway, I got some food down inside of me and then I looked up. I noted that Tim was nearly bald! I put my head down and mulled over this fact. I was sure he had a thick mop of black hair but then again I don't know him that wellat all! Nice ham though and the orange juice was working miracles!

Tim disappeared for a couple of minutes before returning with a newspaper! Whilst munching on a badly-formed ham sandwich without butter I noted the fact that the newspaper he was now reading was in French! I started to mumble again, "I didnt know you could speak French" but at the same time I knew that something was not quite right. Pulling myself together I looked up and straight into the eyes of a young and very bemused Frenchman who perhaps was wandering if I could turn dangerous at any moment.

We both looked away quickly. I sneaked a look under my armpit for Tim and there he was in the same postion as the Frenchman but one table back. I just grabbed my plate and and ran - I coudn't look this man in the eye now could I!

Thankfully Tim had also had a few too many beers the night before and didn't note my strange behaviour! Or maybe he had but was too polite to say so!

Relocation to Singapore because there was no job at home

noreply@blogger.com (Ieuan Dolby) — Tue, 17 Aug 2010 09:54:00 +0000

It is with mixed feelings that I start the packing progress again! Not the suitcase this time but the house, the family, the life and away to Singapore we go - permanently.

Unfortunately, I am no longer able to live in the UK, a combination of wanting a new job that involves less travel and not being able to find the right one on my very own doorstep (which included the whole of the United Kingdom and most of Europe for that matter) - oh and one that pays a decent salary!

Machtech recruitment called me yesterday! Another inane inquiry that lead up the empty road. I told him on the phone, "for one year I have been searching, you have offered me jobs and then I never hear anything, nothing, nada, the trail goes cold". I have called some of these recruitment agencies back and asked them the status of my applications. I get the pat answers ranging from "the guy we need to talk is on holiday", "they are having a meeting next week" and "the final selection process is under-way". And then after a few more weeks have passed - nothing. I called one guy ten times, left ten messages and still nothing. Eventually, one week later, I got an emailed reply that read "they are still considering your application". What were they doing? Using dating technology? No single recruiter ever called me back to tell me the status of my application; not one out of more than I will bother to count. Not one, to their complete discredit!

Faststream, Genesis, Shipping Jobs, Halcyon Recruitment and many other recruitment agencies have all trumpeted and highlighted the growing arena of maritime jobs available, some making statements like "the shipping companies simply can't find the qualified staff". I was out there folks, I was available and eager. I put myself on the market and you came up with squat.

The icing on the cake though is that I sent one letter direct to one employer only. One letter and within a few weeks I had an interview and a few weeks after that I had a job. Makes me wonder what these recruitment agencies are doing all day?

Anyway, I must not grumble. In two months we will be happily ensconced in a new way of life, a new job for me, a new school for the kids and a whole new way of living for my wife. We are excited about it all and are now very much looking forward to it but at the back of my brain it niggles. I had the perfect CV, the ideal experience, I was not asking for top salary and I was willing to relocate at the drop of a hat. So what did not click with these recruitment agencies?

Loading Cement in Kosichang, Thailand

noreply@blogger.com (Ieuan Dolby) — Mon, 26 Jul 2010 06:22:00 +0000

Bagged Cement being loaded from barges into the ships hold

Stevedore sleeping between shift in strung hamocks onboard the vessel

The unsafe way to transfer workers from the barges to the vessel

Bank Stress Tests

noreply@blogger.com (Ieuan Dolby) — Fri, 23 Jul 2010 17:44:00 +0000

Bank Stress Tests are the ultimate insult to the comman man, including Bankers. What a complete pile of dung, compunded by the fact that some very highly paid and upper-echelon government employees compiled them.

Anybody can write a report on anything and to any end; design of these stress reports is to provide stability to the financial markets. The reports may achive their aim but it does not mitigate the facts that they are pathetic in content and in-reality - I don't see any need to justify this statement as everybody knows the truth anyway. They just can't accept it or need to promote such garbage in defence of their own strategy.

We always knew that the banks would fail in the first place but we were blinkered. Those very same stress test creators once chanted "it is in the best interests of a company to amass large debts to progress". As a society we were all led to believe that having debt was acceptable behaviour, the days of being shunned by society for taking a loan have long since been replaced by collective agreement that loans are necessary to survival and future operation.

I grew up actually believing that the only way that a company/person could survive was to be in debt - it took the collapse of the banks to tell me otherwise.

Now we have banks telling us that they are really all okay and that, well, perhaps it is time to take out a loan again!

Upside down in Brisbane

noreply@blogger.com (Ieuan Dolby) — Wed, 21 Jul 2010 12:54:00 +0000

Upside down in Australia

Got here at last! I immediately noted that the baggage carousal at the airport turns the wrong way and that Brisbane is a serious place on the move. I think it increased in size before my very eyes! Buildings are springing up alongside pretentious coffee shops faster than they can find the land to build them on - the reason why most new buildings block out the sun from the last one that was built.

An example of theThe Building Spree

Not many overly-large people around, also not many Mcdonalds or KFC joints to blot the horizon - in fact I think most people could have done with putting on some weight! Stress? Lots of skinny secretaries tripping behind balding and thin yet slightly macho bankers (insurance agents?) as they head off for some power lunch with an emaciated builder perhaps.

A Business Power Lunch in an expensive joint with a view

But Brisbane is a nice place it seems - lots of Asians kept on stopping me to ask for directions so I must have looked very localised - must have been the can of Victoria Bitter in my hand! A nice place indeed apart from the inane Americanised security measures that the port area was weighed under. No photographs allowed. Special bus from the security gate to the ship - no cars allowed. It took extreme time to get to the vessel as the bus was only allowed to drive at 20 kilometers per hour, then they found out that I did not have a safety helmet so we had to wait at the bottom of the gangway whilst a crew member came down with one. I put it on, climbed out of the bus and climbed up the gangway only two metres away. Strange thing was that the crewmember who gave me the safety helmet gave me his own.

And wow, have you ever seen a root vegetable as large as this one?

London, Hongkong then Brisbane

noreply@blogger.com (Ieuan Dolby) — Tue, 20 Jul 2010 16:20:00 +0000

Aruba? Nay, Just Sunny Vlaardingen

noreply@blogger.com (Ieuan Dolby) — Wed, 14 Jul 2010 10:18:00 +0000