Photo: War ruined Massawa...

This wasn't going very well. We needed diesel. The skipper of the Yankee vessel Pipe Dream had already approached me asking for spare diesel. I'd told him to bollocks when he informed me he needed it to run his air conditioning!

Port Massawa, still a war ruined shambles, offered very little in the way of supplies and nothing much else either. Mike, the 'Laundry Man', was our Mr Fix It and he told us the good news. A UN Aid vessel had just docked with 400 tonnes of sugar. If we queued at the depot we'd get some. I told him we didn't need sugar, only diesel and whatever supplied we could scrounge with our US dollars. He promised to take me to see the harbour master to ask for a permit to buy diesel...

...it turned into a disaster. The skipper of Pipe Dream was already there ranting and raving in his American style, demanding diesel as though it was his right. His arrogance was unbelievable. The Harbour Master threw us both out, saying his diesel was for his people, not for rich Americans. The Yank asked me again if we could spare some fuel adding that, to stay on his schedule to arrive in Yemen, he needed to use the engine if his speed dropped below five knots. He couldn't just rely on the wind and his three fee paying crew demanded their air conditioning. I assumed they must be Yankees too. I told him we were down to our last 100 litres, which was hardly enough given we would need our engine if we ourselves encountered trouble heading south to Aden. He told me they were down to their last 800 litres too which, I figured, was more than enough for him to get out of the Red Sea.

Pipe Dream left Massawa within the hour and Mike told us, now that the Yanks had gone, we'd get some fresh supplies but no diesel. Maybe there was fuel in Port Assad but we must be careful of pirates there. He said there was little of anything in Eritrea except lots of good fish. Mike led us both to a back street eating place and, in the squalid port, they served us the best white fish we'd ever tasted, straight from newspaper and eaten with our hands. Washed down with fresh mango juice. Fantastic!

The next morning, the harbour master cleared us out and Sänna left port under sail to conserve the precious fuel we had left. We'd managed to buy some meagre supplies of questionable fruit and veg which would somehow get us through. Marie and I both knew it was going to be tough. A few days later we sailed into the foulest storm we'd ever experienced....
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