Aboard Linan

Sunday, September 8, 1929

A real nice day and the old Linan girl had a better roll than ever. Word was received of a typhoon to the north of us besides the one to the east. Thus at noon we ducked for shore once more and sailed into an inlet of the sea all surrounded by these low mountains or hills. The inlet itself had many recesses and each was the site of a quaint little fishing village snuggled down by the water’s edge and extending part way up the hill. They seemed to fit their role perfectly—of having been the home of fishermen for centuries. The age-worn brick (?) houses were small, and one-storey. Their roofs had that same graceful curve that one sees in the Siamese temples, though not so pronounced. Each town seemed to be the proud possessor of a more modern-looking building.

Backing up the village, steep hills lifted their green slopes far above the handfuls of huts, dwarfing them into insignificance. Intensely cultivated, these hills were terraced into innumerable steps, as if every inch of ground were needed to support the small colonies of inhabitants. Farmers’ huts were here and there among the hills, and occasionally a patch of trees. Farther inland the hills seemed barren, cold, were rugged and desolate.

Pulled up on the narrow beach in front of each village were many small sampans and fishing craft while many more lay lazily rolling in the ripples a short distance from shore. The Linan seemed strangely out of place in this “old world” atmosphere.

Our path was obstructed by a small fleet of sampans and fishing nets stretched across the inlet. In passing we hit some of the bundles of bamboo poles that buoyed up the nets and set them apart, too often in splinters.

At last we anchored near a small islet a couple miles in and out of sight of the sea. The high hills afforded excellent protection from the wind. The Captain, Mr. Putnam, Harold, and the second went sailing in one of the ship’s boats. I got there too late and missed out. The yachting party was not particularly hot though, as after a lengthy sail they found themselves way down the bay with a strong wind against them and also the tide. Reports differ here. All agreed they tied up to a junk and hired a native sampan to pull them back to the boat, but they all shift the blame for not rowing or tacking back.

Jean has been getting plenty of kidding for her late hours and sleeping till we anchored today. The captain got out his victrola tonight and we all enjoyed that till the wicked hour of ten-thirty.

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