During the night, we start moving - a convoy of twenty-six ships - into the canal. This means there's little to see of once infamous Port Said.
The port was popular with sailors and soldiers in the pre-container days. In a delightful series of short stories based on a disreputable rogue of a Scottish chief engineer, Guy Gilpatric describes Port Said as "a city of boisterous nights." That's putting it mildly.
In 1929, Evelyn Waugh investigated the town:
“…there is nothing at all in Port Said which any intelligent tourist could wish to see …”
And its brothels:
“Inside (the prostitutes’ rooms) iron bedsteads were visible, and hanging banners with the crests of British regiments.” (Labels Evelyn Waugh 1930)
Denis got up for a quick look and saw some streetlights. I rise at 0400 and, at sunrise, can hardly see anything at all.
In the wheelhouse, the Egyptian pilot, our charming, new, Filipino Captain Bonifacio ("Call me Boni") Miramontes and helmsman Juan Masiado are peering into the fog and in full electronic mode.
Even before the sea level canal was opened, writers were calling it:
" ... the most stupendous work of modern ages." (A Visit to the Suez Canal T. K. Lynch 1866)
Eventually, the view somewhat clears and we see Ismailia, centre of celebrations for the 1869 canal opening, a mosque and our forward mast. Asia to port, Africa to starboard.
Cars queue for a ferry, which nips between ships.
On the east bank, another mosque.
Between breakfast, cigarettes, swatting flies and chatting on his cell phone, the pilot guides us into the Great Bitter Lake where we'll wait for another northbound convoy to pass. "Chat-chat-chat ... steer such-and-such course ... chat-chat-chat." Lunchtime.
