My secret jaunt to Fujairah

So a couple of months ago, brother John and I found ourselves in the same country, which does not happen in these times that we live in. He's a sailor, endlessly bound for exotic ports and other watery horizons. I am, you could say, a wanderer who is notoriously hard to pin down. He was in New York, then I was in Japan, then he was adrift upon the Seven Seas, and now I'm flying high as an apple pie in the sky. And then -- circumstances of maintenance anchored him off the U.A.E. coast for three days. I caught a ride to Fujairah and climbed aboard the U.S.S. Regulus, which little brother is willing and capable of driving.


John: Quintessential model of preparedness.


From where I stood, the Port of Fujairah looked rather small.


But it's quaint, isn't it!


The damaged part that brought the Regulus round these parts


Top-secret sneak peak at the cargo


We laughed non-stop for two days at the Seamen's Club.


"Hook" is an affectionate family nickname for my brother.


GPS: We were here.


Me with my big little brother. Women want him; men want to be him.

I can't say for sure whether the Port of Fujairah is, in fact, small. I saw but a wee corner of it. I humbly accept corrections and clarifications to the information published here.

A footnote to this story:
When Emirates sent me to New York to operate the inaugural JFK flight, John happened to be flying out of New York to Madrid on the very same day. So our paths crossed again! I'm starting to believe in miracles.