Tag Archives: marina

A few odd jobs then on to Gran Canaria

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My collection of radar reflectors

Before leaving Lanzarote I bought and mounted a biggest ugliest radar reflector I could find. Short of hoisting my pots and pans there is little else I can do at this point. Fingers crossed that it’s enough to make me visible to radar.

I also installed a much sexier, but considerably more expensive solar panel in the space covered by the companionway hatch (when it is open).

Not too shabby if I may say so.

Behold!

New solar panel

Nothing like a few boat chores to suppress the heart and stimulate the mind. Besides, there’s no more whiskey aboard.

It took me 24 hours to sail to Las Palmas, Gran Canaria. My plan was to arrive once the ARC rally fleet had left so I could be sure of a berth but I had not counted on the marina being closed. Yes, closed! But I’m getting ahead of myself here.

Just as I rounded the breakwater (at approximately 11am), I ran into the entire fleet of ARC participants as they made their way to the starting line. Looks like my timing was a little off. No matter, I’ll just join the festival, take advantage of the photo opportunity and watch the procession from the comfort of Eileen.

The 2010 ARC Rally leaves port. Trouble is, there's no wind!

I spotted the young Swedish crew of “Wind” (who I’d met in Nazare). Music blared from their boat as they waved to the crowd gathered along the marina breakwater. I also found myself alongside “Summer Song” (the only other ARC entry I’d met on my travels), and exchanged a warm greeting.

In the following hour or so I watched just about every other boat in the fleet file out and head to sea.

With only a few stragglers remaining, I made a dash for the marina entrance only to have my first attempt at landfall thwarted by an angry “marinero” in a RIB.

I could see the veins bulging from his temples as he shouted… “The marina is closed, go away, you come back tomorrow, leave now…”.

“Closed? Who cares if the office is closed! I just want to tie to one of the recently vacated pontoons and sleep.”

The official seemed to be getting increasingly agitated at my reluctance to leave, so rather than be responsible for triggering a brain embolism in all the excitement, (those veins on his forehead are really popping out!), I reluctantly complied, motoring to the extremely crowded anchorage on the other side of the breakwater.

See mum, I can be magnanimous on occasion. 😉

What all sailors do in Gran Canaria, wait...

Five hours later I made my second attempt, and as it was probably Mr “not so sociable’s” coffee break, I made it to a pontoon unmolested.

I’m now in Las Palmas Gran Canaria doing what all sailors do here (unless of course they are part of the ARC); hanging out at the Sailors Bar waiting for the elusive trade winds.

Crossing my Rubicon in Rubicon marina Lanzarote

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Picture perfect Lanzarote

Lanzarote is one of those picture postcard places that looks absolutely fabulous in a travel brochure but in reality leaves you feeling underwhelmed, or perhaps that something somewhere is missing. Might I dare suggest it’s simply a soulless resort?

Perhaps I’m being a little unfair to the island. The recent severing of long held emotional ties to Belgium has darkened my perspective of late. There is always a price to pay for the freedom of sailing away from it all, and with an indifferent text message I’ve just been presented with the bill. It would appear I’ve “crossed the Rubicon” and over several glasses of fine single malt whiskey in the company of a Swedish neighbor, I wonder at the price I’ve had to pay to continue this journey.

In Cascais waiting on the weather

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The dingy fleet in Cascais, Portugal

It’s been a week of lazing about Cascais and Lisbon with very little to do. Just the way I like it. Sleeping in, wandering about town for a spot of exercise, and shopping for enough food to last two months. These are the activities that now feature prominently in my daily routine.

Provisioning is one of my favourite “stuck in port” pastimes. It’s shopping therapy without the guilty feeling that usually accompanies those nonessential purchases. Admit it… you know exactly what I mean… 😉

So, guilt free, I wander the supermarket isles hunting for interesting tidbits that can be stowed without refrigeration for months or years at a time. Cured hams in vacuum sealed plastic, strangely appealing (at least until tasted), meat substitutes made of goodness knows what for vegetarians, tuna burgers, assorted pates and crackers, mountains of pasta and precooked packets of rice, vegetables etc etc… I’ve not been as methodical as other sailors with my sailing larder. Some have each meal organised into individually wrapped plastic hampers labeled with the day of the week in waterproof marker. OK, perhaps I exaggerate a little… they don’t all use waterproof markers on their hampers.

This strikes me as obsessively organised, and I hope to never have such simple pleasures preplanned to the nth degree… No no no… I’m much happier rummaging about in the storage compartments under the settee for the mystery meal of the day. It’s not like I don’t have the time to go digging, and think of the pleasure denied you if it’s known without a doubt (because it’s written in the inventory), that there are no more tinned puddings aboard. I’ve strategically hidden mine so that it could be many months before they’re rediscovered. 🙂

Of course I’ll probably pay dearly for this haphazard nutritional strategy… After a month at sea I may be reduced to eating odd leftovers such as tomato sauce and jam tortillas. Ugh!

I’ve compiled a short mishmash of photographic oddities to accompany that last thought. Enjoy!

Is it a dingo? no?

Is it a dingo? No, it’s something else entirely, but I’m not sure what… Your guess is probably better than mine, so if you want to name the breed, feel free to leave a comment. I’m going for the pseudo Latin Canis Verylazybus whileinportus.

The new generation of Blogger...

Sticking with the pseudo Latin theme, here we have Bloggerus muchtoomuchus slaving away (late into the night), updating the ever important sailing website. Good thing I’m not nearly as conscientious. I finished my update a good 5 minutes before him… 🙂

Black cat = expensive rope

Back to the animal theme, here we have Cattus veryblackus guarding the entrance to one of Lisbon’s ship chandlers, in which I purchased some of the most expensive rope I’ve ever had the misfortune to require. That will teach me to disregard such obvious omens… 😉

The Lisbon bling tram

So that it wasn’t all work and no play while visiting Lisbon, I took this Tramus incrediblyreflectus in order to satisfy my vanity and latent bling bling desires.

Fashion conscious Lisbonites

You see, in Lisbon, it’s very important to look ones best, and if the resident homos withouthomeus is anything to go by, I need to spruce up my wardrobe considerably.

The one that got away!

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La Coruna, Spain

On my way to La Coruna from Vivero I hooked the monster of all fish… It was all terribly exciting! But despite a prayer to the effect that I would be ever so obliged to land this catch, and a promise to put the kill to good use feeding ‘one and all’ at the marina, my pious appeal had no obvious effect (perhaps it lacked sincerity, as I was more concerned about feeding myself than the nebulous ‘one and all’).

Anyway, after almost half an hour of determined struggle with this Spanish leviathan, the scaly beast won free. Grrr!

In my defense it was the fishing hook rather than the line that gave way, but I shall not hide behind such feeble excuses. It’s now just my minor footnote in the dusty annals devoted to fisherman’s tales of ‘the one that got away’.

Since I’ve already had my say on La Coruna when traveling north earlier this year, I’ll only mention that I stayed at another marina this time (the one under the fancy habour tower) and that it gets my thumbs up. No more rolling about all night while berthed.

The showers are also notable, but so popular you have to wade through them in a perpetual sultry haze. Frankly, taking showers in the company of strangers at marinas, wondering what exotic mold might be lurking underfoot, isn’t really my idea of a good time. Yes, I’m both shy and paranoid, but Turkish baths, the Jacuzzi or saunas are simply not my thing! I’d rather go swimming in the sea, but preferably when it’s warm.

Andre takes a swim beside his pride and joy!

Speaking of which, I had my first swim (in a wet suit) of the season while moored at La Coruna today. Our friends in “Yayou” had caught on some rope on route and I reluctantly volunteered to play clear the propeller for them.

Andre was a real gentleman. Ill at ease with sending me to do his dirty work, he insisted on accompanying me for a dip as official photographer. I’m always happy to be of help and expect little or nothing for my efforts, so when given a collection of fine wines as a token of appreciation, I was simply flabbergasted.

Dear Andre, I will enthusiastically toast your health when I open them in Brazil.

Keeping busy in Gijon

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Service with a smile at Gijon marina

The weather is consistently atrocious all over northern Europe so there is absolutely no point in trying to sail anywhere.

Every morning (or afternoon depending on how well I sleep), I make my way with my laptop to the Hotel Esteban’s cafeteria and check the forecasts on passageweather.com over coffee, an enormous slice of tortilla de patatas with bread, and orange juice, for the frugal sum of 2.10 Euro (I think we have already established that I’m one of the last of the big spenders). 😉

Traditional music

According to the weather reports I’ll be visiting Gijon for at least a week. Fine with me, It will give me time to prepare for my Biscay crossing and allow me to fight the entropy threatening to spread gear and clothes homogeneously throughout the cabin.

After digesting the bad news (with regards to the weather), I usually make my way to the marina where the girls at reception cheerfully assist me to overcome my innate resistance to pay for another night (12 Euro, and all payments must be in advance).

Administrative duties complete, I’m free to play “stupid tourist” (happened to hear that phrase en passant)!

In the spirit of La Coruna’s photographic ramblings, here is my collection of gems from Gijon:

Dancing in the streets, Gijon Spain

It’s Sunday, there is music in the streets and a festival atmosphere. This young fellow is having a ball as he is too young to realize that the audience is laughing at him rather than with him. Not to worry, he is sure to have the rhythm conditioned out of him by the time he is a teenager. Evidenced by my brief visit to a nightclub yesterday. 😉

Cheese anyone?

I make my way to the markets and can’t resist stocking up on fresh bread and cheese.

What are those children up to now?

Old ladies shout at the children running amok in the streets,

Feline disdain

while feline onlookers (this time of the fur covered variety), glance disdainfully at all the noise and merry making.

Children in conversation

I stumbled across these two engrossed in some deep and meaningful conversation,

Pizza and Chinotto

and finished the day on a high with the best pizza I’ve eaten since leaving Italy (at Vesuvio). The icing on the cake is that they sold chinotto! In my inflated opinion, the ultimate beverage accompaniment for pizza.

Yes, a few extra days marooned in Gijon will not be too burdensome.

An anchorage off the beach at Finisterre

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Beach anchorage at Finisterre

I was not going to round Finisterre with north to northwest winds (from Force 4 to 6), so I only motored as far as the headland for a peek at the conditions (in a word… ugly), before turning to plan A and making for the beach anchorage northeast of the town.

Provided there isn’t too much roll, and the wind doesn’t shift so that you end up in surf, I’ve come to enjoy staying at beach anchorages. They can be so easy! You just approach the shoreline until you arrive at your desired anchoring depth (5 to 6m for me), and drop your hook in the clean white sand. No fenders to tie, no rocks to rub up against your hull, and no weed to reek havoc with your anchors holding ability. Bliss! As an added bonus you get to ‘people watch’ landlubbers for your afternoons entertainment.

Dawn at Finisterre anchorage

The port of Finisterre has virtually no room for a visiting yacht, but the anchorage served quite satisfactorily for my overnight stay as the winds died down to Force 1 and the seas settled. Just as predicted in the weather forecasts… What a novelty!

Rising at dawn, I photographed the French yacht that had come to share “my” beach retreat before joining the rush of fishing vessels heading for the cape.

Sailing along the western coast of Portugal

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Avian hitchhiker

24 Hours later I weighed anchor and started the 50 plus nautical mile leg north to Cascais on the outskirts of Lisbon. The sailing was in light winds on a relatively smooth sea, so generous use of my mighty 13.5hp Beta engine was necessary. Even at a consistent 5kts, it was almost dark as I approached the Rio Tejo. I really should learn to wake up earlier…

Dolphins made an occasional half-hearted visit, but this was more than compensated for by frequent social calls by exhausted avian hitchhikers.

Overall, the passage was soothingly tranquil, ignoring a brief episode of near panic when my favourite hat forced me into another impromptu “man overboard” drill. I did get it back however! As you can see in the accompanying photo, it is just the thing to compliment my sailing ninja apparel and I would be loath to lose it.

Sailing ninja apparel

I spent two nights in Cascais marina and I will happily return here (perhaps at anchor) in summer before heading toward Madeira or the Canary Islands. There are interesting little beaches, quaint winding cobblestone streets, and a multitude of bars, restaurants and cafes catering to all tastes.

I was also pleased to find the “out of hours” marina staff exceptionally helpful and professional; evidenced by the quick defusing of potential disaster as an accompanying Finnish yacht bungled repeated attempts to tie off at the reception pontoon. The incident prompted a spontaneous and amusing discussion on general marina mishaps, and having witnessed first hand what these people have to contend with on a daily basis, they have my deepest respect. Let me elaborate with an example;

Beach, Cascais Portugal

I’d noticed quite a substantial number of seagulls resting on the marina breakwater in the afternoon and a sudden cacophony of avian cries disrupted my hapless attempts at Wi-Fi prompting me to pop my head out of the companionway, I was just in time to see an enraged fisherman take out a pistol (the air gun type from the sound it made) and start shooting willy-nilly at gulls attempting their getaway with stolen fish. I’m afraid I do not have an accompanying photo captioned “enraged fisherman shoots sea birds”, but I was studiously minding my own business at this point.

Besides, dealing with this sort of thing is the business of those aforementioned, exceptionally helpful and professional marina staff. 😉

I was too tired to sample Saturday’s marina nightlife and had to content myself will meeting other cruisers “en passant” partaking in the new and ridiculously bizarre yachtsmen ritual of wandering marina grounds seeking improved signal strength for Internet Wi-Fi, laptops extended, face aglow.

I sailed to Barbate

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Church in main square, Barbate

My Atlantic Spain and Portugal pilot refers to Barbate as a practical stopover in a somewhat soulless town. The marina certainly isn’t packed with nightclubs and restaurants. It has two of the later and none of the former. More distressing, for any slothful sailor like myself, is the 2km hike into town to buy provisions. Despite this, I wouldn’t go as far as calling Barbate soulless. I’d settle for a tad dull.

I wandered aimlessly about the town for days, took the obligatory snapshot of the white sandy beach, church and town hall (all very nice if you frame the photo well), and loitered suspiciously for hours at venues offering Internet access (both restaurants at the marina have WiFi, and in town there are two “cyber-cafes”. The coin operated one near the beach is probably your best bet).

Despite enthusiastically delving into the myriad of touristic offerings (attempt at dry humor here), I couldn’t quite get accustomed to Barbate and eagerly awaited an opportunity to depart.

The regular jogger set, dog and power walkers, passed by frequently as they made their daily pilgrimages between downtown and the marina. I lived in fear that they’d move beyond our now customary brief nod of recognition, and stop to converse.

For someone as poorly versed in Spanish as myself, (my conversational repertoire is currently limited to boat talk and the weather), the mere thought of engaging in serious small talk is traumatic! Mind you, I did plan to take it in small steps… starting perhaps with a few words to the dogs and slowly working up from that. 😉

Barbate beach in March

I needn’t have worried. No one ventured to go beyond the briefest “Ola”. Perhaps I’d already outstayed my welcome. This paranoiac notion grew as staff at El Espigon, (where I visited daily for a morning espresso and tostada), suddenly appeared reluctant to provide me with Wi-Fi access (it’s mysteriously switched off when customers linger for more than the briefest of sessions).

Even the restaurant at the other end of the marina has started using the “silently switch it off” strategy to ration Internet usage. It’s a Barbate conspiracy. True, I’m no big spender, (I can only drink so much coffee), but I’m also very unlikely to seriously impact their bandwidth quotas by writing my blog.

To add insult to injury, they’ve only given me one packet of jam with my toast today! Simply outrageous! It’s clearly time for me to move on, but where is that weather window when you need it?

On to Estepona

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Life vest found at sea

On a smooth gray sea I motored to Estepona. Visibility was poor, but I did manage to see enough to catch a discarded life vest as it drifted by. No markings anywhere and thankfully no shipwrecked individual still clinging to it.

Eileen motored on through the mist, at one point emerging amongst a ‘flotilla’ of resting sea gulls. Taking flight, they squawked angrily, and circled with what appeared to be the express intention of bombarding me with excreta. I managed to dodge most of it, but Eileen was less fortunate!

Arriving at Estepona’s visitors quay, I was courteously met and assisted with securing Eileen. The staff then accompanied me to the marina office where I completed the usual formalities (passport, insurance, boat registration papers), and paid what amounted to twice the daily rate of Fuengirola. Their saving grace however, was the welcoming gift of a bottle of local table wine. Aha!, an obvious ploy to win me over and trivialize the price hike. 🙂

Estepona is well serviced with chandlers, sail makers, night clubs and restaurants. Supermarkets are also just a short walk away, but I did not need or care to venture into town. Having made the most of my complementary gift, I opted instead for an early night.

Viva Fuengirola!

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Fuengirola Marina

It was a cold and wet 22 hour sail from Almerimar to Fuengirola and despite wearing nearly every article of woolen clothing that I own, I felt I was sailing in the Arctic rather than the South of Spain.

With so many layers of clothing I looked like an inflated puffer fish, but despite the handicap, I still managed to keep Eileen of Avoca pointed in the right direction. Bravado aside, there really isn’t that much to do ‘on passage’ once the sails are set and the autopilot’s engaged.

Just the way I like it… There aren’t too many sporting activities that allow you to make a cup of tea or take a nap while you are at it… though upon further reflection I’ve added cricket to the list :).

Not that I was sleeping, a ready supply of RedBull and the angry buzz of my newly installed radar detector kept me wide awake as I ambled past the light off Cabo Sacratif (FL (2) 10S 25M).

I passed the time rummaging through my provisions for that ideal midnight snack, listening to insults exchanged over the radio (prompted by some bored fisherman amusing himself with incessant on-off transmitter clicks and the occasional groan), and obsessively fussing over the GPS in order to make that negligible and completely unnecessary adjustment to my course.

Surprise surprise, I didn’t run into anything, I was not attacked by pirates or sea monsters, and no rogue waves materialized. I just motored into the marina, tied Eileen to the visitors pontoon, and stepped ashore in Fuengirola. All too easy! I’ll have nothing to blog about if this keeps up.