Day 54: The Jam Maker

23.02.09: 5.30am. The phone rang. Groggily, I answered it. Hello? It was the captain. You have to get off this ship. Now. We will not take you and the ship leaves in ten minutes. Get off! In an obstinate attempt to force fate to ensure I got to stay on the Linge Trader, I hadn't packed my bags, and my crap was spread out all over the cabin. I hurriedly stuffed everything into my backpack, possibly breaking all my things in the process and trudged downstairs like a man condemned. Into the ship's office and there was Junior finishing up the ship's paperwork. What was I doing? I have to get off, the captain says... No, no, no - you can't get off here, they won't let you. What? Immigration say you cannot get off. I'll ring the captain. A fraught phone call ensued. The outcome…

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Day 53: Walking The Plank

22.02.09: We pulled into Kingston, Jamaica at about 6pm. I could see the Pamplona, the ship that will be taking me to Costa Rica, on the other side of the dock, ready to leave at midnight. But The Caribbean had one last trick up its evil little sleeve for me. The permission hadn't come through from the owners. To cut a long story short, there was no way I was getting on that boat. A flutter of activity between me and Dino (so sorry Dino), keeping him up until 1am on a Sunday night with work in the morning. Options, options, options. Then, captain Van Der Plaats suggested I stay on board here. We would be in Mexico on Thursday. I was tired, I was fed up and I had no intention of spending an extra second more than I had to in the Caribbean. I…

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