FROM THE WATER TO THE DUST - Friday Day 2

I admit to having an affinity with Spain.  Don't get me wrong, I adore the Portuguese and all their strange little quirks, but something has to be said about the Spanish and their 'joie de vivre'!  We are all aware of the economical mess banks and governments have put this planet in for now and the ripple effect reaches us all to some degree.  In this particular region of Spain, I will be hauled out not only into a huge dust bowl, but one of the poorest areas of the town.  One of the first things I noticed upon landing on Spanish soil was how loud they all talk.  Many would even have to say they were actually shouting, but I do know different.  The Portuguese sometimes shout, they appear to be shouting, when most of us would be 'having a normal conversation.' Db wise.  Let's say the average person speaks at around 65-75 decibels say at approximately one metre distance, so I reckon the Spanish speak/shout at about 35 decibels.  They long to be heard, they love to be heard and they most certainly are heard.

My theory is this.  Long before the days of Alexander Graham Bell, the only way of communicating across the hills, was to take a deep breath and yell your point across the yards and somehow this art of communication became deeply ingrained into the genetic make-up.  In fact long after the days of Alexander Graham Bell too, for deep in the vast remote countryside, many couldn't contemplate the cost of having a telephone, let alone even the availability.

I find it very endearing and amusing as long as you don't expect to nip off to the local Café for your morning coffee, expecting a heavenly silence, with only the swallows' song and the chime of distant church bells to accompany the caffeine.   Your silence will be truly broken not only with the loud, non stop banter but to accompany the cacophony of speech, the slot machines will be whirling, chinking and lighting up just about every colour under the rainbow.   Buenas dias to you all!

Putting yelling aside for just one moment, I have a boat to haul out.  I'm a little nervous, it's normal, so I'm attempting to keep myself busy before the tide is high enough for me to get onto the trolley.  My engine this morning has decided to cough and spurt and stop.  I turn the ignition once more and she again bursts into life.  I think either its air in the fuel system or crud.  Either way with an imminent manoeuvre on my hands, I would prefer it to just run without further hiccup.

Suddenly the trolley makes its way into the water and two guys are left hanging onto the upright stanchions of the trolley like a couple of stranded monkeys. One of them is the owner of the boatyard and he waves me in.  So it's time to leave the mooring and chug over to the trolley.  The engine decides en route to stop a further two times, to add a touch of drama to the approach.  I haven't mentioned the fact that the steering has tightened too, so to be able to turn the tiller remotely in any direction, requires a body lean to help it notch up a few degrees. 

So here I am, metres from the trolley, wind from the SW and I've made the turn too early and I'm possibly in danger of missing the trolley completely and it's nigh on impossible to steer and I'm also wondering if my engine will cut out again at a crucial time!  Who needs caffeine in a noisy Café to wake you up!

I really enjoyed their no fuss and nonsense in regard to getting my boat hauled out and when in doubt as to whether my keels are sitting pretty on the trolley, get in the damn water man and check!!

When the winch kicked in, I didn't realize at first we were in fact moving at the speed of a snail up the runners.  There used to be a train track from Ayamonte to Huelva and I never knew why it eventually disappeared.  You can only get from one town to another via road or the sea these days, but looking down now onto the tracks that are aiding the trolley, I think I know what happened to the train track.

As I looked forward to jet washing the boat next with what had been described to me as one of the best industrial machines for the job, with a kick to it to match a land to air missile launcher, the boatyard crew were getting ready to haul out a much larger vessel.

Unbeknown to me, they took precedence over everything as they would be going back into the water on Sunday.  I would only get the jet wash on Monday, so I had the weekend to complete other jobs.  The great thing about that is, when you have a boat, there are no end of  'other jobs' to do!

All hands on deck for the haul-out

So we are safely in our respective places for the brief time we shall be out of the water.  It's now time to head to a bar, sit in the shade, get sung to, shouted at, watch someone win €80 jackpot on the smallest of slot machines and above all sink an ice cold beer!

ONE WOMAN AND HER DOG - Thursday Day 1

Two days before I had planned to depart for the short hop to Spain, we had had a beautiful South Westerly wind, most ideal  for the run down to Ayamonte and the Guadiana river.   When Thursday had arrived, not only was I still tired from a 40 hour working week under a blazing sun of 38º C, non stop trips to the boat with gear, tools etc, and a quick bottom scrub down on the island, but an eerie silence enveloped the Ria Formosa.  A shroud of fuzzy cloud sat above us and a slight surf could be detected, crashing its load on the ocean side of the island.  It meant only one thing. O Vento Levante, or in other words, an Easterly wind approaching.

The wonderful thing about an Easterly is the apparent surf it brings, usually prior to the arrival of the wind.  So hordes of seal like surfers go running off to the beach with glee.  Not for me.  An Easterly for a sailor in these parts, means, big swell, lolling seas and if you're heading East, like me, wind right on the nose!!  

Kicking up a wake with the new outboard!

As I got myself ship shape to leave, it became obvious after a brief glimpse at WindGuru, was that the arrows depicting wind direction, gave 'no knots' speed.  Not particularly encouraging at all.  So the conditions would be plenty of swell and not a whisper of a breeze.  Now if I didn't have the boat booked to come out of the water, I simply would have stayed put on the mooring, but I didn't want to miss my slot.   The surf gave much concern to one local resident, who looked at me aghast and told me I couldn't possibly leave because of the Levante.  They may well have told me a tsunami was on the way and we were all doomed, with her stricken face pleading with me not to leave and I couldn't alleviate their concern, because I was leaving.  Besides, it's sometimes tricky to explain the conditions to a landlubber, that it's not a life threatening journey!

Now I haven't ever succumbed to seasickness per se, but on this short journey of approximately 15 miles, even I couldn't manage to rustle up an appetite!  The relentless rolling of the boat in a swell that lifted you up from the starboard side and the intermittent waft of diesel fumes, doesn't bode well to getting a pot on the go.

Flag hangs limp

Not a whisper of wind

Even my dog Eby was quiet, settling herself down first at the helm and later in the shade on the cockpit boards, curling up on her makeshift sleeping bag.  I made sure we drank a lot of water and kept ourselves out of the intense sun.  My solar panel helped to give her shade.

Eby girl at the helm

On route I saw only one other vessel and  it definitely wasn't another sailboat! Let's face it, they wouldn't be so stupid as to subject themselves to a most uncomfortable passage.  I passed a small fishing boat just short of halfway and then nothing until I reached on the approach to the breakwater at Vila Real, where small fishing boats were busy finding fish.

Port Buoy at the breakwater (a welcomed sight!)

My morale lifted no end after we rounded the buoy and made our approach into the river.  The swell was behind us now and gently lifted and shunted us towards the direction we were intending.  Even Eby began to perk up and could smell all the scents that wafted over from land and my stomach began to show obvious signs of hunger. 

Chugging up the channel, with silly hat

There was the contrasting sides of the river to absorb, on the Portuguese breakwater, many people were fishing on land and on the opposite side, small Spanish fishing boats busy buzzing around the shallow waters of the entrance.

I think she likes what she smells!

Eby smells land

The further up river we motored, the calmer the waters became.  I had calculated the right time to arrive at the mouth of the river with regard to tides etc and the tide was perfect for us. It was on the flood.  Further more I had a happy canine at my side, no doubt looking forward to exploring new lands.  Shortly before I left Tavira, my neighbour to my mooring had told me to pick up the biggest mooring buoy that belonged to the boatyard.  It also happened to be the closest mooring to the slipway.  I suppose he felt compelled to help in anyway but most vehemently declined the ride down.  No surprises as to why, and I certainly wouldn't have wished the trip on anyone, especially someone  susceptible to motion sickness or I could have had a boat swimming in.....oh never mind!

Heading over to the town of Ayamonte

On the mooring  

Weary yet happy, we set off to explore the area and for Eby to do whatever she deemed necessary.  It was a very still afternoon, no wind had arrived at any point, so we were wiped out more from the dreary journey and heat.  My hunger was still yet to be fulfilled and a friend with hindsight had ordered Mousaka from the night before, to take with on the trip.  All I had to do was reheat, feed the dog and get my head down!

A well deserved pre-cooked meal of mousaka and rice!

 Dead on my feet, I make my way down below to get horizontal and hope soon the band will pack up and scurry away.  Somehow they seem incapable of reading my mind and carry on repeating the same bars over and over again.  I found myself commentating, throwing in constructive but cringing criticism.  As Day One heads towards dusk, tomorrow is really when the fun begins.  I get hauled out via trolley at 11.00, Portuguese time, 12.00 Spanish time, just to make it even more interesting.

This is one tired woman and her dog signing off...

This vista of  nature's beauty is the last thing I see before slumber

N.B  Crucial footnote needed here, to tell you keep scrolling down till you get to next post.  I think possibly a black hole intervention took place...