HIDDEN SPACES in FOREIGN Places
As a child of the 1960s, and married to Carolyn, a gourmet cook, we’ve always had a little hidey-hole for our herbs and spices. This has—how shall I delicately put it?—saved us a lot of hassle over the years. Out of sight, out of mind. Let’s face it: Most Americans don’t have groups of foreign law-enforcement officers searching through their residences on a regular basis. But we do, almost every time we raise our anchor and head
An easily removed and replaced overhead dome light turns the space between the deck and headliner into a secret hideout. westward. Thus, international discretion becomes the better part of valor.
For people who don’t understand this, I have zero tolerance.
Internationally, contraband comes in many shapes and sizes. For example, here in Singapore, where I pen this missive, chewing gum is absolutely forbidden. Woe is the vessel owner discovered with a stick of it. In the Middle East, where gentlemen’s magazines such as Playboy are a requested bribe by governmental officials, pictures of naked ladies are strictly forbidden. (Cruising World sent me a parcel of back issues while I was in Brunei. A dour woman in a burka scanned every single page for smut before begrudgingly releasing them.)
I collect pocket knives with various blade lengths, shapes and opening mechanisms that make them perfectly legal in the Us—and outlawed in other places. In Singapore, for instance, the blade lengths of knives are unspecified but can be deemed too long by the arresting officer, and so are illegal. Go figure!
In many countries, booze is illegal. And in Micronesia, some elders urge their young people to avoid cigarettes and use traditional drugs, such as betel nut, instead.
In New Zealand, clearance officials in Opua tossed away my musical maracas and threatened arrest. Who knew I was attempting to illegally smuggle agricultural seeds into the country!
One small island nation makes a point of internationally advertising itself as a spearfishing destination to tourists, while the country next door arrests anyone in possession of a Hawaiian sling.
In Thailand, it is rumored that a VHS or DVD of Yul Brenner’s The King and I will get your boat confiscated. Don’t get me started on the craziness of lèse-majesté.
Even widely published bestsellers can get you into trouble. Fifty-one countries currently ban certain books. Am I being silly? No. I can currently be arrested and (perhaps) caned if I’m found with a copy of the Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie, or any book penned by Karl Marx, Vladimir Lenin or Joseph Stalin.
We regularly collect art as we sail. But the truth is, lots of stuff in the Louvre would get you locked up in some of the places we’ve visited. And, wisely, I’ve shied away from mentioning anything to do with religion.
The point of the above is simply this: If you’re going to transport your floating home from place to place for six-plus decades, you should be aware of how myriad complicated laws might negatively affect you. And because of that, we have a couple of small places where we put stuff that, as we age, we might inconveniently forget about.
I’ll describe one of these hidden spaces in detail: Our sailboat, Ganesh, has a fiberglass headliner, and in certain areas, there is quite a bit of room behind it. We also have an LED dome light. I mounted the light on a thin piece of varnished mahogany plywood, and then epoxied a strong magnet to the upper side of the plywood and a steel plate to the underside of the deck. Next, I extended the electrical wiring to act as a tether between the boat and the plywood and light. At any moment, I can pull down the fixture, allow it to dangle in place, and then toss in money, birth-control pills, ipads, cameras, pocket knives—even full-color advertisements for chewing gum. Best of all, the strong magnet makes the LED dome light self-aligning. All I have to do is get it back in the vicinity, and swoosh!
Yes, not everything is as it appears on Ganesh. Why not have a smattering of secret
compartments under seats and berths?
For instance, if we leave our vessel for a long time, we have a compartment where we can hide all our computers, cameras and expensive electronics— even our chiming ship’s clock. (Don’t forget to shut off the chime or it might give itself away a week later while thieves are aboard.)
How do you make a compartment with a false bottom? Easy: Under, say, a dinette seat cover, just a leave a corner of the small pieces of wood that act as carlins for the tightly fitting plywood false bottom. If the fit is good, there will be no way to reach down and pull up the plywood unless you know the secret. You just push down firmly on the plywood over the missing corner support, and the whole sheet tilts up—easy as pie.
If things like this amuse you, just think outside the box.
I have no guns aboard. Often, I’m sitting in my cockpit when groups of fishermen approach, many of whom end up clinging alongside to gam.
On our old boat, Wild Card, my cockpit was almost empty, except for a Henderson bilge pump. Its stout handle, mounted on two white plastic clips within easy reach, was actually a fairly heavy stainless-steel weapon because it was poured full of lead at one end.
The foredeck spinnaker pole end unscrews in less than a minute. Depending on the diameter, it can hold either cans of beer slid down inside or fifths of 50-cent rum in Madagascar.
In a house, your ceiling is overhead. In a modern production boat, your ceiling usually protects your interior from the dampness of the sides of your hull. Kevlar string is extremely strong. Often wallets, small purses or waterproof bags can be invisibly suspended within this private space. This is where we carry our cash stash—much of it in singles and fives (in case we have to, say, hire a team of island Sherpas to help offload our vessel after a severe grounding).
We have a 50-plus-year-old Pfaff sewing machine aboard.
While bulky and heavy, it still runs with the smoothness of a new Rolls Royce. I seldom tie up to docks. I don’t need to. Why? Because I have the massive amount of chain needed to anchor safely in deep water (and, man, is Indonesia deep and steep-to!). Anyway, if I wanted to hide something as bulky as a Pfaff sewing machine, I’d lug it up to the foredeck while all my chain is paid out, then flake that chain atop its case before I tied up to the customs dock.
As I said, just think outside the box.
I carry a bagged spinnaker and a bagged asymmetrical chute in the forepeak. I often have to shift them from side to side while searching for other gear. It is easy because the nylon fabric is slippery and slithery. Carolyn, meanwhile, loves boxed French wine—chateau Cardboard, she calls it. But some countries don’t allow wine or have a stingy limit of two bottles per vessel. Not a problem. While we don’t have inflatable water tanks aboard, we do reuse the plastic innards of boxed wine cartons because they too are as slippery as nylon. In fact, it is hard to feel the slithery difference during a hasty, hands-on inspection of the forepeak. Especially by an official in a uniform, in the tropics, with the boat rolling, while he’s feeling vaguely seasick.
Am I suggesting that anyone anywhere do anything seriously illegal or truly immoral? No, I am not. I do not. However, strange living circumstances in a fluid political spectrum often require creative thinking, a devilmay-care grin and a confident attitude.
Here’s one last example. In 1970, in New Orleans, we came across a wealthy sailor named Benny who didn’t believe in banks. Word got out. Various boat bums, layabouts and harbor trash around the Southern Yacht Club at West End started regularly breaking into his vessel while he was ashore, hoping to get lucky.
At first, Benny attempted to lock his boat more and more securely, but the eager thieves just brought bigger axes to the party. One day, he had an epiphany. He asked around the harbor where he could buy a bilge safe and a loud marine burglar alarm. Once he had the safe, he hauled his boat at Young’s Shipyard, lagged the safe atop his ballast and then fiberglassed it in place for good measure—all done with much kibitzing with the local dock rabble.
While he kept the gigantic companionway hatch padlock in place for its visual value, he removed the bolts he used to secure the hasp and instead screwed it in to minimize future damage. Then he relaunched his vessel, left the safe empty, and put all his money in his mizzen boom.
See what I mean about thinking outside the box?
Cap’n Fatty and Carolyn Goodlander remain chewing gum-less aboard their Wauquiez ketch Ganesh in Singapore.