Christmas at Sea.
Once I was kicked by a mule, as I was remonstrating,
a dog interfered and bit my ankle. There is something
deeply embarrassing to lose arguments to animals.
Guayaquil, Colombia, I hadn´t gone ashore for fun but to
buy food stuff for the crew. Since it was a few days before
Christmas and even our Moslems crew liked something
extra. It is difficult to get into the festive mood when it is
hot and I had been bitten and kicked, Jesus was born in
a barn which is a good place to be a cold winter night as
animals exude good warmth. I marvel of the nativities of
Joseph, a finer man than me; a person unsung through
times. Chicken for Christmas, not pork, in every mess
hall there were a coloured trees, since the Islamists do not
drink there was peace on earth; I forgave the mule and
the bloody, yellow monster of a dog. And silently the old
tramper ploughed the sea on her way to Jamaica, where
the seaman´s priest would invite us Christians to sing
psalms and hand out little presents of socks and gloves
knitted by kind ladies back in Norway.