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Blog Posts by: Aaron Sáenz

A day in port and we wake up in Holland, surrounded by windmills and four meters below sea level, but this time are no bizarre and unpredictable love story, only the tide. Everyone returned to their nest, burrow, shelter or bunk after a nighttime foray into the streets of Groningen, and no one deserted.

It’s interesting how they react when they see us coming: they raise their heads, eye each other, and when one makes the first move towards escape, the others follow. They stop a few meters away (a false precaution and hardly effective) to satisfy their curiosity. They watch us, watch each other, and exchange concerns in a strange language, to end the interaction with a half turn and a cold goodbye after a brief greeting. The only trail in their wake are a few waves in the water, or a few forgotten footsteps on the beach.

RINGGG... 7am, breakfast in the mess room, two cups of coffee (sacred), a slice of tomato, a slice of cheese, three slices of cucumber, two slices of toast, a boiled egg and a slice of melon.  Some political talk, some bet for the day and everyone under cover.

Engines, generator and auxiliary engine, two on top, three below and sound of a cock crowing in the background. It was tough but in the end, I gained his trust, after trying to catch it to put it in the container... in the end it walked towards me.

Following the mishap with the Sea Patron’s engine, we decided to leave the port in search of things that we need this week’s work on the Lebanese coast. On the wish list from staff are: cables, batteries, medicine, gloves, keys, and herbal teas to help us to digest the food onboard. It turned out to be a dash against the clock through the crowded and frenetic streets of Beirut, which actually in a crazy way, relaxes me. Here paperwork is slow and the cars go fast. Getting back to list, I’ve asked for a set of green eyes. In my opinion, this country has many treasures to its name.

You can still appreciate the moisture of the night absorbed by the cliffs of Dwejra: green, towering, plunging into a calm sea. They are a sight for sore eyes after so much land scorched by the summer sun. We forget about the Ranger, and jump into the water with a coin under our tongues as payment for the ferryman who must open the door to the underworld for us; an unexpected and incredible route via an endless crack, with vaulted ceiling and collapsed walls resting on a distant bed of fine white sand.