Word: marcoes
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...words struck a chord, nearly a year after the attacks on New York's World Trade Center left me seeking solace in wide open spaces where life could be simple again. My craving for escape found me on the deck of Engel's Marco Polo, a single-masted wooden schooner, for a four-day cruise. It was the middle of the night, and the Marco Polo cruised along at a steady seven knots, the low hum of its engine blending with the soft slap of waves against the hull. Engel watched the dim, forested hills of Sulawesi slip behind...
...Long distinguished for its unique cultures and endemic wildlife, Sulawesi is also the home of old-fashioned Bugis sailing vessels like the Marco Polo. These are still built by hand in the style favored by Sulawesi's traditional seafaring folk in the southern port town of Bira. The Bugis have always been traders, filling the cavernous holds of their schooners with timber from Borneo to exchange for spices in the Moluccas. The Marco Polo, however, is designed to carry passengers, with seven simple bunks, a shower and a shaded gazebo on the upper deck...
...glowed faintly on the control panel, but Haji paid them no heed. He has been sailing these waters since his youth; subtle changes in the shape of the coast and the position of the stars are all he needs to know exactly where he is. Just before dawn the Marco Polo reached the eastern coast of Selayar and dropped anchor...
...hours later we arrived at a pristine beach surrounded by coral heads at the southern tip of the island. Divers readied their gear and plunged directly overboard while snorkelers and shell gatherers headed to the beach in a dinghy. Later that afternoon, a small fishing boat pulled alongside the Marco Polo to reveal a hold full of the day's catch. After a few minutes of haggling, the fisherman agreed to $5 and hoisted three meter-long tuna aboard...
...island, and the moon was full. To celebrate we supped onshore, grilling freshly speared fish over a bonfire. After dinner and lazy conversation, my fellow escapees wandered the beach or plunged back into the warm waters for a farewell swim. My four-day getaway was over, and as the Marco Polo turned back to Bira, Engel's early observation continued to haunt me. I could always get a boat and set up shop on my own little island. Nobody would ever find me. That knowledge would be my most treasured souvenir...