The Death Ship--July 6

Across the Caspian

One of my favorite books, The Death Ship, was written by B. Traven, the same author who wrote The Treasure of the Sierra Madre. It's about an American-born guy who becomes stateless through losing his passport and must take work in the boiler rooms of horrific merchant ships. He finally realizes that the ship he's on is to be deliberately sunk, along with the crew, for insurance money.

My ship, the Naxcivan, is supposed to be a bit newer than the Dagestan, which is broken down and tied up on the next berth. The dozen of us who are passengers must wait about 4 hours (and it's hotter than hell), while rusted and antiquated old Soviet rail cars are rolled on. During the long hours, I make friends with several Turkman women (equally disgusted at the whole process), who give me their phone numbers in Ashgabat to call them if I have enough time.

Finally, the guard tells us to go through immigration. This venal bunch become excited over my Armenian visa stamp and question me thoroughly. "Why you go?" they shriek. "What you think about Azerbaijan?" I pull out the Travelers' Century Club list and chatter at them in my best Orange County fashion. This appears to throw them off guard. They let me pass without a bribe, although those behind me are not so lucky.

The Naxchivan is a working ship that plies across the Caspian, and passengers are only an after thought. No Coke machines here; hell, there aren't even fans. I can't even imagine the nightmare that must be going on below decks. An Azeri named Ramiz, who appears to be the ship's purser and cook takes everyone's passports and asks if I'd like a cabin. This is an airless, stinking room with a broken shower, but an engineer does come in to fix the toilet. They assure me once the ship gets moving, a breeze will come through the porthole. Ramiz, for the next few hours, sincerely wants to devote himself to my comfort. But when the ship finally leaves, the breeze is on the wrong side of the ship, and the cabin soon becomes even hotter, smellier, and completely unfit for human habitation. I go on a march looking for Ramiz. One of the Turkmen girls followed by various Azeri crew members take up my cause and launches a shipwide search for him. He comes running and gives me his cabin. Through the porthole every few hours, his head pops in asking if I'd like some tea.

Those interested in alien invasions will like to know that several UFOs have been sighted over the Caspian Sea. One tear-drop shaped, milky-white UFO was later proved to be an advertising balloon, but an elliptical-shaped one, glowing with "red radiation," was considered to be the real thing.

Cabin decor

Looking back on Baku