Sunsets Across the Atlantic - MacGregor 65 - The Mediterranean

Lisbon:

Sunday the 29th we motored up the Tagus to Doca de Alcantara marina, the heart of trendy Lisbon's revitalized restaurant/bar district and within walking distance of public transportation: trains, trolleys and busses.  While the scope of the city is daunting for Beagle Puppy Jim, Monday, after giving Sunsets a well earned Atlantic crossing rinse, our threesome set off for town lucking into a double-decker narrated tour of the central city.  That and a climb of one of the city's 7 hills to the fort, Castelo de Sao Jorge was all the shore leave Mark could muster before heading to the airport at dawn on Tuesday for his flight to Madrid and home.  I'm left with large sea boots to fill when its time to head to Gibraltar:  it will be Joyce manning the dock lines and fenders.  But with all of Lisbon at our doorstep we won't be leaving soon.  We bought a 3 day tourist pass to the city's museums and churches including transportation and the race is on.  Blisters be damned!  We are tourists with a mission:  getting our money's worth and checking off sights.  A % of the wealth from the spice trade and gold that came from Brazil was dedicated to ornamenting churches.  Artists with an unlimited budget painting, gilding, sculpting, weaving gold threads into vestments, creating luxury boats and carriages for the royal palaces and building more palaces.  Fado, fate, was the musical blues of the Portuguese people who in 1908 put an end to the royals and their opulent ways.  A dictator or 2 later and the modern country emerged.  We are struck walking the streets by the number of cafe/pastry shops.  Many tiny shops on the streets of the Alfama, the ancient city, of twisting narrow streets climbing the hills like vines.  We wondered if the homes had kitchens or if everyone ate in cafes.  And another thing.  Stores have heaps of salted cod looking like tanned hides.  I don't see it on menus, nor have I seen anyone buying it, but they must. We have also been to the outskirts of the city to the Expo 98 site along with modern apartments and highways.  One more day of frenzied touring to go and we can explore at our leisure.  Joyce, Jim and sadly, no more Sven

Lisbon, Farewell:

Sunday, August 5.  On our last day of the 72 hr Lisbon pass we digressed from churches and art to parks and a military museum.  The military must have a lot of pull in Portugal.  Its display was housed in marble rooms lined with oil paintings and as much gilding as the churches. The weapons themselves were works of art.  There are a number of parks in the city. Some with vistas from hilltops, others providing shady nooks for people to gather for a game of cards or a demitasse cup of coffee and a pastry.  Parque Eduardo VII was built in a former quarry now transformed in part to a lush jungle with pools and waterfalls.  On a summer Saturday it is a challenge to keep out of wedding photos while in the parks.  After taking two bus tours and having hiked the old town streets Jim was ready to take on a rental car, not encouraged in Lisbon.  At the airport we learned that the only cars available there were reserved for arrivals.  Back we went to a Hertz office in the hotel district, and armed with a map of the country that was best used as a divining rod (you hold it in the direction of two possible turns and see which way it pulls you) we set out for Sintra.  Sintra is located 30 miles to the west of the city in mountains overlooking the valley of Lisbon.  From this vantage point the Moors in the 9th century could keep watch from their fort in the mountain tops for enemies  on the Atlantic or Tagus River.  The royals who ousted them did the same, but of course, also built a mountain top castle for hot summer days in addition to the Versaille-like summer palace en route in Quetzul where the royal river was lined by walls done in glazed tile on both sides for 150yds.  The palace in Lisbon is still used today to receive dignitaries.  The quaint fishing village of Cascais that we drove to going home is like Annapolis at boat show time:  roads strangled by tourists. We headed further north along the coast rather than inch home, driving through an area of sand dunes that were whipped across the highway sandblasting our Fiat. The 30 windsurfers in the Atlantic below were enjoying it. The weekend is at least a benign time to drive into Lisbon which we did for an evening of Fado music in the old town.  Sunday, with our rental Fiat with barely enough oomph for the San Francisco-like hills, had us up and out the door in such a hurry that Jim found himself crossing a toll bridge over the Tagus with his wallet still aboard Sunsets.  All of Lisbon was crossing to the south Sunday am heading for the beaches of the Algarve coast.  A quick reversal to the north upon crossing seemed to be in order as I looked up the phrase, "My wallet has been stolen," as our best explanation for the police, but we sailed across unaccosted in the lane reserved for pre-paid buses.  Back to the boat and replenished with escudos (to be Euro dollars Jan 1) we decided to take in the Expo 98 Oceanarium, the largest in Europe and well worth the visit.  24 hours of Lisbon driving was enough and we refueled with 1.5 gallons of gas after scaling a mountain and cruising up the coast! Carless again we strolled homeward along the Avenida da Liberdade that was blocked to traffic for the pleasure of cyclists on Sunday.  Thanks to the 1755 earthquake it is broad and straight with a shady park for a median. A cab ride home to Sunsets at 4:00 left us time to ready her for our own departure for the port of Sines 60 miles south of here on tomorrow's tide.  -The Sightseers

Sines:

By 3 pm after departing at 6 am we were docked in Sines behind a mole, or artificial basin with a huge rock jetty for protection from the Atlantic.  The flood tide down the Tagus added 2 knots to our speed downriver.  We motored all the way with the offshore breezes too light and fluky to sail.  The water here as in Lisbon is crystal clear revealing an abundance of pan sized fish, perhaps the fry of the catch we saw being hauled in from gill nets just offshore. Sines is tucked into the rocky coast surrounded by an endless beach below arid hillsides and rocky outcroppings.  The town has a castle like fort in its center, and the heavy industry is largely hidden on the opposite face of the craggy point.  We lucked into the free end of a floating pontoon, the only space large enough to accommodate us.  The tides rise and fall about 5 feet and so far all the marinas have had floating docks.  Its off to town.  Joyce and Jim

Lagos:

The evening of the 7th in a restaurant in Sines we met Portugal's "faithful friend", the salted cod, said to have 365 means of preparation.  We both had soup, mine fortified with bread and garlic for flavoring, and Jim's with beans and rice. We're going to skip the remaining 363 recipes. The age of discovery has made a deep impression on the culture.  Rice from the Indies and potatoes from the new world are mainstays of the diet, especially french fries.  And nearly everyone over 9 uses tobacco.  Sines, birthplace of Vasco da Gama, is as compact as Lisbon is sprawling, and it was fun to take in the beach, fort, new and old towns in a pleasant stroll. The 8th at dawn its off the 75 miles to Lagos that served as Portugal's regional capital and slave market. We had our best sail under Genoa and main today along the shore cliffs rising from 250 - 400' and passing Ponta de Sagres, the south western most point of the continent, the wind picked up. Here Prince Henry the Navigator established a school of navigation that pushed ever further down the coast of Africa finally rounding it and establishing exclusive rights from the Pope for this Indies trade route.  Satisfied, they rebuffed Columbus who got his fleet from Spain, reluctantly willing to gamble on another way to the Indies.  Portugal lost her chance to claim the new world, getting only Brazil from the new papal treaty.  Lagos was the point of departure for Portuguese fleets, and her harbor at the mouth of a river protected by a sea wall is today a destination marina and beach town of the Algarve coast. In Arabic El-Gharb means the west.  Marina rates reflect its popularity:  $65/day compared to Sines, $17.  The land-sea breezes here in the afternoon whip up like March winds at home.  We waited until morning to wedge into our slip where we'll stay for 3 days.  Our evening along the reception pontoon was exciting as barely-under-control power boaters maneuvered near us, and another sail boat rafted to us for the night. I needed a nap after our Thursday am sortie into town leaving Jim free to take a windy beach walk where European dress codes for women prevail.  Friday we'll try a dinghy tour of the grottos just outside the mouth of harbor. -The Algarve Beachcombers

Baccalao (Dried Cod fish)
Reference your recent email regarding seeing all this dried fish in the Portuguese markets.  Baccalao is the national dish of Portugal going back for eons.  In the early days (before, "Birdseye"), about the only way fish could be preserved was by air drying sometimes aided by slow heat.  The Portuguese being great world girdling fishermen, fished the Grand Banks off of Iceland where in the early days sea gulls could walk on the backs of Cod Fish as they rose to the surface.  Tons and tons were caught.  Sometimes the small fishing boats would literally sink from being overloaded with fish. They   were tremendously  important as a source of protein for the Portuguese, as well as for all of Europe.   Dried Cod Fish or, "Clipfish" formed the basis of a huge industry.  Wars were fought over fishing grounds and  and processing sites
Shortly after being caught the fish were filleted and spread out on racks to dry after being heavily salted.  After drying for a certain period of time they were loaded into the holds of ships for transport back to the mother country.  Looking almost like hogsheads of tobacco leaves.  They would keep this way for years.
Prior to cooking into the national dish, the fish are rehydrated, e.g. soaked in water for at least 24 hours and rinsed thoroughly.  The national dish of Baccalao consists of these reconstituted fish being either fried or baked along with onions, garlic and very often, potatoes.  An acquired taste!  Try some while you are there.
Fifty years ago in San Francisco, I used to go to a little hotel in the North Beach area of town called the Hotel Centrale.  This hotel catered to Portuguese and Spanish Sheep herders enroute to their contract jobs herding sheep in the California mountains.  They would stay in this hotel going and coming from Portugal and Spain (Basque Country, primarily) and that's where I was first introduced to Baccalao.  By the way they served a sit down dinner family style, including cheap red wine for about $7.00!
Anyhow, that's my story and I am sticking to it.
-Gordon Rutkai

Adieus, Portugal

Friday, the 10th was calm, perfect for our dinghy exploration of the coast that has eroded into towering pillars, arches and caves with many beaches nestled along the way.  People became fewer-and freer in their dress-the farther from town we went.  Finally we found our perfect sequestered hideaway with a blow hole cave behind and the lighthouse on the cliff above.  Isolated, that is, until the 10:00 tour boats arrived and anchored in front of us which were then swarmed by open boats that took small groups threading in and out of grottos around the corner and pointing out the lighthouse above us.  When the tide fell our unclad male neighbors delighted in strolling in front of the tour boats.  We enjoyed our picnic lunch before heading home with the returning tide that took our dinghy over the rocks exposed when it had fallen.  Time to tour the rest of the coast on Sunsets which we did Saturday.  Jim hoisted the main as we left Lagos Marina but motored all day on the glassy Atlantic.  We stopped for the night at Vila Real de Santa Antonio at the mouth of Rio Guadiana, the border of Spain.  The village lacks the twisting streets having been leveled in 1755 and rebuilt on a grid plan.  Sunday morning we took a taxi to an inland town, Castro Marim, and toured its ruined forts begun by Romans.  They overlook a massive salt works of evaporation ponds.  At 3 pm we'll motor up the Guadiana clearing under a bridge at low tide.  Castles dot both shorelines along with small villages and a wildlife refuge.  Then it will be goodbye (adieus) Portugal.  -The Captain and His Riverboat Queen

Columbus:

Rio Guadiana cuts through very arid land that has seen 40% emigration rates for centuries.  It is reverting to a bird sanctuary with only the occasional hard scrabble orchard or small garden plot to be seen.  Yet upstream several villages carry on boosted by excursion boats that travel as far a our night's mooring spot, Alcoutim, 20 miles upstream.  The tour boats disembark their passengers on the sister village, Sanlucar, in Spain.  The Portugese side was seedier, with rough cobbled streets but alive with outdoor cafes and people mingling.  Across the river life is contained behind high white walls, neat, but sterile feeling.  The yachtie who wants a cool respite from crowds stays upriver.  We were gone with the morning tide the 20 miles back and another 27 miles of Genoa assisted motoring brought us to Mazagon, Spain, tucked behind a 6.5 mile seawall.  Yomar, the boyish blonde 21 year old dutch skipper of a 60', 40 ton charter sailboat helped us with our docklines at our slip.  He has been sailing for 5 years in a Dutch program for sailing masters.   With a three day car rental we'll explore the hinterland.  This is the heart of Columbus history.  Columbus had been trying unsuccessfully to pitch his "small world, quick-trip to the Indies due west" unsuccessfully for years.  He had left his son, Diego, at the monestary in Rabida on the banks of the Rio Tinto, where Queen Isabella's confessor stayed.  Columbus bent his ear, and he interceded, persuading the queen to spot Columbus enough money to return to court, and try again to get backing, to win new souls to the faith perhaps in the East.  For the 500th anniversary replica ships were built and sailed to the New World, and are now a tourist attraction moored on the river banks from which he provisioned long ago. Crews were recruited from the city Heulva on the opposite bank, but now it is engulfed in tank farms.  Inland, and upriver the town of Niebla's red fortress walls beckoned.  Rio Tinto has great mineral wealth, and fortification began in Roman times. The whole city at one time lay within the walls.  Detailed displays of execution devices and methods set this fort apart.  Only nobles got by with beheading.  We'll get an early start for Sevilla on the 15th.  -Joyce & Jim
PS  After Mazagon, our next port of call is Cadiz.  Getting ahead of myself a bit, our sail on the 17th from Mazagon to Puerto Sherry was outstanding.  Full main and genoa, 9.5 knots steady with bursts of 11.  A cheeky trimaran gave chase from behind under spinnaker giving the captain pause until he saw she could not hold her course into the wind as well as Sunsets.  Our rival was vanquished, but alas, only until she hoisted her jib. Confident of victory, the captain    reefed the main.  Despite unfurling our staysail, she gave us the slip, cutting close to land for a shortcut to her anchorage.  Windsurfers and para-windsurfers are crowding the mouth of the harbor as we head into the marina at Puerto Sherry, near Cadiz.  Sailors once again. PPS Puerto Sherry was a disappointment. The hotel pool had closed and the modern town was a loong walk, with nary a taxi in sight. We walked back along the nice beach and relaxed aboard, enjoying the music from a nearby nightclub, which played until 7am.- The Nightowls

Sevilla:

While Sevilla is 50 miles up the navigable Guadalquivir River its port is no nonsense: container ships only.  We arrived early on the 15th in time to buy tickets for a bull fight at 8 pm.  The landmark Moorish Giralda tower along with the cathedral were closed for the Feast of the Assumption so it was off to the Alcazar.  This is a fortified palace complex of endless rooms and equally extensive gardens with filigree plaster ceilings, scalloped arches, and tiled walls and floors of dazling design.  Each new ruler, caliph and king alike, added more square footage, the later with gold unloaded at the city docks from 250 ships a year.  We found a lovely room in the historic area, in an old hotel with inner courtyard (a hostel),  our first night away from Sunsets.  The bull fight saw the awarding of one ear to a matador and the live retirement of one bull out of 7.  Oles were shouted when the matador could treat his bull with casual disregard, get him to charge the cape on demand, and die promptly.  This is possible after the bull has been thoroughly exhausted chasing all the novice matadors and the mounted picador. The first bull dumped the horse and picador over and proceeded to "gore" the belly of the horse while the picador and various assistants attempted to distract him.   Happily the padding around the horse worked and spared the animal. Afterwards the area's nightlife was just getting underway so we strolled around town until midnight. We feel much safer in Europe than in the US, but have avoided any "rough" areas and are not usually out late. A whirl of sightseeing ensued on the 16th: breakfast in a vine covered patio in Seville, lunch in a tapas bar (hot or cold snacks) in Cordoba, and dinner back at a local chicken rotisserie in Mazagon made possible by the rapid speeds on the Autopist, 65 - 100 mph. We were able to tour the Giralda tower and cathedral Thursday morning.  The cathedral is the 3rd largest enclosed area in the world, and the altar and sanctuary seem plunked down in the middle with vast areas of space surrounding it (1 1/2 football fields). The walls are lined with chapels fenced off by locked grills.  The tower was designed for a horse to ride inside to the top, so has 34 ramps, instead of stairs.  The Moors thought about destroying it to keep it out of Christian hands.  Instead, it has been copied as the bell tower of choice all over Spain.  After an auto tour of parks and sights on the river bank it was off to Carmona, a fortress walled city dating from the Copper Age atop a bluff with a commanding view of the rolling farm land beyond.  Caesar declared it the best defended before conquering and improving it. Further north lies Cordoba with a Roman bridge still in use over the Guadalquivir.  The Moors made it their Spanish capital and built the world's 3rd largest mosque, La Mezquita, here.  It's 856 inside columns support striped horseshoe arches.  The cathedral it now hosts is unable to overcome this Moslem stamp.  We headed home on secondary roads-unnumbered and unnamed on our map.  You know where you are by the towns you reach.  Every inch of al-Andalus, Moorish for land of milk and honey, now Andalucia, all of southern Spain, is cultivated.  The only trees are in river bottoms.  Homes are clustered in towns.  As far as the eye can see it appears the only access is by tractor.  They'll plant again when the hot, dry season ends. -The Landlubbers

Gibraltar:

We had problems with the telephone in Spain. We had no phone card, were busy touristing and after buying a phone card, we could not figure out how to use it. When you don't speak the language, it isn't easy to get help with a problem, or order a meal. Huevos are eggs.  Huevas is batter dipped, fried fish paste in a sausage casing, or so I found out when my eggs arrived.  My luncheon fish fillet was a plate of fried sardines.  Meow, I ate them bones and all. So Sunday, the 19th, despite knowing the sights would be closed, we tried to tie up in Cadiz, but there were no slips for "El Grande Barco", and no convenient anchorage, so off we went 70 miles further to Gibralter.

  I have to admit it was a thrill sailing along the coast of Morroco, past Tarifa, where the Moors landed to begin their invasion some 1300 years ago, the narrowest spot, 8 miles from Morroco. We had to motor the 55 miles from Cadiz , with some help from the sails. At Tarifa I shut off the motor and sailed about 5-6 kts. Checking below the GPS showed 11.4, the current was really strong. The wind quickly built up to 25, we hit 9.5 wing and wing with reefed main and genoa, struggled to furl the genoa just as the "rock" came into view. We cleared British customs and anchored in the only anchorage. Suddenly a jet took off from the airport.  I thought we were on it, it was so close. Joyce fixed a nice dinner and we had cocktails in the cockpit, watching the sun set, and the jets take off. The rock is lit by floodlights at night, and is quite a sight. The Spanish border is right there, so there is still hope for the phone card, but first to the top of "The Rock". A cable car ride will get you to the level with attractions spread over a 3 mile area, but a fast talking native convinced 4 of us to ride up with him.  It was a thrill sharing a one lane stretch of switchback road with two way traffic and pedestrians pinned between rock walls and the guard rail weaving their way along.  The limestone rock has a Lurray cavern with amphitheater inside.  About 300 tail-less monkeys well fed by the British live in the trees and dot the walls en route.  Lazy ones hitch rides on the outsides of cabs.

Britain was granted a perpetual right to the Rock, but that hasn't stopped Spain from trying to oust them by siege, most notably the Great Seige of 1779-83. The British dug in-literally-creating tunnels now of 30 miles length inside with cannons installed to fire down on the besiegers.  Driving back down you could see remnants of Moorish walls and earlier fort walls but the swelling population is overrunning them with housing and back fill on the coast. The first skull of a pre-modern man was found-but not identified as such-8 years before the German Neander Valley gave its name to the species. Gibratar appears to have been their last holdout against us moderns.  Getting to and  from Gibraltar entails traversing the middle of the airport runway built during WW II.  Like a railway crossing, there are gates to bar vehicles and pedestrians during takeoffs and landings. Any number of battles have been waged between here and Ceuta, the comparable point on the Moroccan coast that with Gibraltar comprise the twin pillars of Hercules. Ironically Ceuta is held by the Spanish as tenaciously as is Gibraltar by the British.  Many Moroccans work in Europe and replaced the Spanish in Gibraltar during the 16 year Franco era when Spain closed its border here entirely.  We'll try for a ferry to the opposite shore tomorrow.  -The Bewildered

Costa Del Sol:

Thursday, the 23rd we weighed anchor and headed into the Mediterranean's fabled Sun Coast, or so we thought.  It was, until we tucked into the nearest harbor 19 miles away at Estepona, the Fog Coast.  Jim piloted us through the throng of anchored freighters at Gibraltar by radar while bleating on his brass horn.  Only from 100' did one radar blip emerge as the slab side of a huge ship. From alongside her stern, her bow was enveloped.  Had we known that this fog would not burn off as had Tuesday morning's 2 hour fog we would have remained at anchor.  Gibraltar has been a nice respite from life without sub-titles. We found a Safeway that carried raisins without seeds; took in "Jurassic Park III", all special affects, no plot and NO popcorn; fueled duty-free: $200; swapped pleasure books and bought 3 new coastal guide books. Jim was in heaven on a motor scooter poking into WW II gun emplacements, and circling the coast highway. I'll recover from my saddle sores. At Estepona I got into the swing of Med living, arising at 10 am and dining at midnight.  More east wind brought in more morning fog and this time we decided to linger in town.  Beside the marina there were enough outdoor cafes that you could dine there for 2 weeks at a new spot each night.  The old city core had a farmer's market of stalls many with fish on the counters-no ice.  We passed huge nets stretched out on the working piers to dry with cleaned fish suspended by their tails along wood stakes for drying.  Casinos have replaced fisherfolk beyond this town.  We learned of a horse show at 9 pm Fri, but with the fog gone, so were we, 30 miles up the coast to Puerto Benalmadena. But we hadn't forgotten about the horse show.  Jim docked at 5 and we left the marina at 7 in a rental Seat car doubling back to Estepona for what could best be described as an equestrian ballet. All of the cultural elements of southern Spain were woven into the performance:  flamenco guitar music and 6 dancers, traditional dress, and superbly trained horses that dazzled us for an hour. Our drive back took us past revelers just getting started for the evening at the non-stop nightspots along the shore.  The Captain plans to be up at 6 am and at the ticket window in Granada at 8 am 120 miles northeast to see this former Moorish capital's Alhambra, considered the world's best preserved medieval Arab palace.  We made it at 8:30, got in at 10 with an admission ticket to the palace at 11:30.  The contrast between the outlying countryside as dry, drab and rugged as our west with the oasis on a hillside overlooking both the fertile valley of the Darro and the mountain peaks beyond is dramatic.  And the views are framed by arched windows trimmed in filigree wood carvings as intricate as lace.  Part of the river was diverted allowing water to flow through the palace and gardens in myriad fountains.  The gardens are layered up the hillside with the stone handrails serving as aqueducts.  The museum had restored a sample of the ceiling art to its original colors which have faded. Former stained glass windows are now lattice wood.  It must have been a kaleidoscope of color inside, and a paradise in the gardens below.  We contented ourselves with this tourist mecca and returned to Sunsets through the mountain past gorges, olive groves, and terraces planted under long tents serving as greenhouses and a quick drop to the coast highway.  Jim hopes the west wind that picked up today will be with us as we sail on tomorrow.
-The Bedazzled

On to Almeria:

Saturday night's  wind had, of course, pooped out by the morning of Sunday the 26th and we were back to motoring the Med 80 miles to an open, rolly roadstead anchorage off Almerimar.  Oh we did unfurl the genoa for an hour in the afternoon for appearances sake-but a wind shift made that impossible to hold.  The scenery here is of stark buff peaks behind a narrow band of land completely swathed in tent greenhouses with a fringe of condos and high rises along the beach.  It looks like the artist, Christo, run-amok. (He draped spaces like the Grand Canyon in cloth in the 70's.) Its called locally the Costa del Plastico, but it is not unpleasing, especially with a little sea mist to blur the edges, rather like a continuous low white cloud.  Monday we poked our heads into the marina at Almerimar finding it to have ample room, and shops at dock-side that cater to the many English who have retired here. After our first actual swim in the med (and the first time since Bermuda, the waters elsewhere being too cold for our taste), its off the 20 miles to the yacht harbor of Aquadulce, near Almeria, our easternmost Med destination selected because it has a POOL.  Alright!  Its relaxation time!  Almeria is located in the center of the last bay parallel to the African coast before the Spanish coast heads steadily northward.  Jim figures if we round that corner, we're goners.  There'd be no turning back.  You do get your entertainment value here in Spain.  There's the sun and fun in the day, and the bars entertain the whole community until 5 am with music that carries well over the water especially with sheer walls of rock for added resonance. We took advantage of the cooling sea breezes and an overcast sky to hop a bus into old Almeria Tuesday morning to take in the 900 year old  Alcazaba, or fort, atop a hill.  One of Michener's complaints in his book, Iberia, was that the Spanish were missing a tourist bet in failing to maintain their castles.  They have wised up since then.  Every one we have been to is being repaired, and many are used as concert venues.  This one's treatment has been influenced by Granada with pools connected by flowing water surrounded by flower beds with the panorama of the port and country-side below.  One facing hillside has numerous doors set into covering cave openings, homes for the gypsy population.  There are 9000 inhabited caves in the Andalucia, many finished off like conventional homes.  And they're cool.  Evidence of Barbary pirates is clear in the cathedral walls back in town:  gun slits.  Gives new meaning to the hymn, "A Mighty Fortress Is My God."  The Spanish boogey man is "El Draco" (Sir Francis Drake) who wrecked havoc and burned towns along the coast in recent enough memory to still be used as a threat.  But I can't burden myself with thoughts of long gone invasions and battles when a second afternoon of poolside lounging beckons. -The Lounge Lizzards
Nautical P.S.  Jim was impressed by the relatively unscathed condition of a catamaran that arrived at 6 am yesterday under autopilot that crashed into the stone sea-wall when the solo captain crossing from Africa fell asleep.  It has a crack below the water line and a visible chip in the finish, but is otherwise unscathed sitting in its slip.  He'll have it hauled for repair to keep his hull behind its watertight bulkhead from taking on water but his self-design and construction is not only sea-worthy but took some real punishment to boot.

Cartagena:

While enjoying a poolside lunch at Clube Nautico de Aquadulce of seafood soup gazing out over the Med on the 29th Barnacle Bill came up with a plan.  We will let Sunsets pamper herself here in port for 4 days while we continue up the coast by car.  We have been able to find space at marinas (except at Gibraltar) because enough boats have left ports near the entrance in July to sail as far as the coast of Greece.  But with September approaching these yachts will be returning to their inexpensive Spanish ports to overwinter.  Also, yachts planning the fall Atlantic passage will begin converging on the ports approaching Gibraltar.  We are in luck. Repairs have delayed the return of the vessel normally berthed where Sunsets has been since the 27th here in Aquadulce just outside of Almeria. We headed off in our rental Hyundai late on the 29th making for the port of Cartagena which we reached the next morning.  Despite its strong walls and fortified hills guarding the narrow mouth, Sir Francis Drake outwhelmed its defenses from Man 'O War ships bristling with cannons.  Today much of the harbor is a Spanish naval basin and after our walk along the harborside we were on our way again.  The country side is as entertaining as the destinations. We tried to buy gas around noon at a spot similar to our road stops along I-95 but were overwhelmed by the congestion.  People had spread blankets on the sidewalk for naps.  Rugs were spread in the roadway facing east.  This is the time of return migration of Moroccans who have been vacationing in Africa while factories here were closed.  We were amazed by the loads secured to the vehicle roofs.  They form a modern day caravan taking European goods home when they leave, and African goods when they return duty-free since it all passes as household possessions.  More evaporation pond salt works lie along the coast just where the shore juts out to the easternmost point.  Here Flamingos wade searching the bottom for food. We reached the port of Valencia at 5, but unlike Cartagena, it was not compact enough for us to tackle without a street map.  Jim contented himself with a drive-through, and pressed onwards to Barcelona where we'll stay for 2 days about 500 miles north of our "home" port.  The countryside is much greener now with pine trees in the highlands, and vineyards, orange and olive orchards in the lowlands.   -The Cheaters
PS  We returned from Barcelona through the Sierras and valleys of the interior.  Quarrying marble, sand and gravel seem to sustain the towns that periodically bloom in the midst of otherwise stark scenery.  Massive terracing of scarred hillsides provides space for orchards when irrigation water can be supplied. Jim actually drove to "Texas" north of Almeria where movie sets for westerns are a tourist attraction and Lawrence of Arabia's camels still offer rides. With Sunsets well rested and the strongest favorable winds we've seen on the Med we'll have a deck beneath our feet tomorrow as we sail west.

Barcelona:

Michener reports that Andalucian emigrants who took jobs in Germany always came home to find Catholic brides, but those who went to Barcelona never came back, and the city was held in awe.  We, too, were awe-struck. With a map and a city guide book with 9 days of city walking tours we left our car in a garage and imbibed Barcelona.  Our room was across the street from the University in what will be dorm rooms when classes resume in October after summer's heat is done. For an overview, we took two bus tours looking mainly at the architecture. Cheap imitations of turn-of-the-century modernist work is described as gaudy.  But Gaudi's skeleton of an uncompleted cathedral is a beloved landmark of the city distinctive because he uses only the curved shapes of nature intending the inside to suggest a forest of tree trunks while exterior surfaces have chips of mosaic tiles embedded lavishly. Walking down the Ramblas, once a dry riverbed that is now paved, we experienced the optical illusion of waves beneath our feet.  We kept sliding our shoes over it to confirm it was perfectly flat.  This is a center of street life with individuals performing for tips, and kiosks for florists and pet shops to sell their wares. It ends at the waterfront where the world's largest medieval boat yard now houses a maritime museum, and our first walking destination Saturday. It was Jim's favorite and I thoroughly enjoyed the imaginative and dynamic displays accompanied by headset explanations.  A naval galley had a screen to project the image of 240 galley slaves manning their oars as we stood looking down from the officer's deck.  The interior of a Gaudi home and a music hall plus the old cathedral completed as much walking as we could do. We stood in the cathedral room where Columbus received a hero's welcome following his first voyage to the new world commemorated by a magnificent statue at the end of the Rambla. But the sleeper was what lies beneath the cathedral: a museum of excavations of the Roman city that lay below. The wine-makers, dyers and fish merchants quarters have the outlines of shop walls, streets, plumbing, and the characteristic features identifying each trade have been uncovered like a subterranean Pompei. Back to our car we passed the park that housed the '92 Olympics, and an ascent to the fort for a panoramic view capped our day before heading home to Sunsets. The 1888 & 1929  World's Fairs and the Olympics were the catalysts for much of the revitalization of the city.  We noticed that the road signs going into a tunnel advised you to turn on your "luz", and then "luces".  Two languages are spoken here:  Catalonian and Spanish.  This cosmopolitan area made an unsuccessful bid for independence in the early 1900s and is a counterpoint to Seville, the most loyal of Spanish cities. We drank from the city's fountain guaranteeing that we'll come back again. The Sightseers

Almerimar:

September is a windy month in the Med.  We were surprised as we drove through the mountainous stretches of the autopista to see wind socks mounted periodically in the median strip in the gaps between peaks-an alert for trucks and buses of the strength of the gusts swirling down.  Right on schedule, favorable winds welcomed us home and held the morning of the 3rd with white caps visible beyond the seawall.  An opportunity at last for the Med sailing of Jim's dreams, and his crew was sidelined with a gimpy ankle from a stumble in "Texas" {an old hollywood film set for spaghetti westerns} I had tumbled with the tumbleweeds. But then Jim struck up a conversation with 4 sailors planning a bus trip to Almerimar, our destination, too.  Before they knew it they had been shanghaied!  We had a brisk 20 mile sail which our guest crew enjoyed for its relative smoothness compared to their 32 & 35' vessels, and all afternoon to enjoy the port of Almerimar where we had previously stayed at a rolly anchorage.  Boats in Med ports lie next to one another companionably like sardines in a can.  The stern is tied off at the dock and the bow is held in place by mooring tackle that remains submerged until needed. Docking involves picking up an inch in diameter line running parallel to the boats above water at the dock and lifting it all along its length until you can attach it to your bow cleat.  Easier than putting out a bow anchor, and much easier than diving to find the  bow mooring as Jim did in Cozumel this winter.  No wasted space for finger piers; no limitations for catamarans.  Low tide can make boarding a stretch, but we have been able to use the dinghy turned sideways between Sunsets and the dock in lieu of a gang plank.  We were in our slip with the afternoon free for Jim to prowl the docks chatting with the yachties and me to have a siesta after a midday dinner aboard.  At 8 we met 2 of our crew, a 40 year old British couple who have retired early to keep work from interfering with their cruising. At the tappas (snack) bar we had drinks and rounds of cheese, bread and anchovies swapping sea yarns 'till 11:00 living like the natives. Its off on the 4th to an anchorage off the fishing village of Motril 35 miles away but upwind under genoa, staysail and reefed genoa with speeds of 7 knots.  I'm back to deckhand duties.  I know what happens to lame horses.  Motril is a gritty industrial harbor with some pleasure boats with room within the seawall to drop our biggest hook to hold in the mud bottom.  We watched the offloading and transfer to trucks of a load of sand much of which was being carried out to sea in the wind.  After a full day of all sailing dinner aboard had more allure than going ashore.  By the morning of the 5th the wind had died and we motored the 10 miles farther up coast to Marina Del Este in Puerto de la Mona, the preferred yacht destination.  Condo construction is underway at a furious pace.  We understand the Costa del Sol is outstripping its water supply capacity.  Some areas use brackish water in their plumbing. Marina del Este is distinguished by the large rock formation blended into the seawall, and up the face of which are steps to several secluded, flower bedecked picnic patios, which compete with the nearby beach for our lounging. Joyce says no competition, the 4" foam cushioned beach recliners are heaven.
-The Cruisers

Back to Benalmadena:

The morning of the 6th we poked out of our slip and motored close enough to shore to enjoy seeing the coastal towns. "What is that black building?" asked Jim. "Get your binoculars," said I. "Its a bullboard." Spain decided to ban billboards and order all existing boards torn down.  However, one advertiser used its products logo, a black bull as its billboard image.  No words.  Just a board cut in the shape of a massive black bull found throughout Andalucia, and so beloved that the Spanish people gladly parted with their other billboards-but not their bullboards!  Gradually the wind picked up and the Captain hoisted full canvass. Dolphins frolicked and the breezes filled in so well that our first intended destination proved too close.  Why stop sailing on a perfect day?  As we headed into port we came upon a group of para-windsurfers.  They substitute a narrow parachute for a sail, and reach speeds that lift them out of the water to do twirls and flips.  We gave them a wide berth, and one tacked back behind our transom waving as he passed. By 5 pm we had reached Benalmadena, the first port to which we have paid a return visit.  We'll stay overnight at the gas dock:  no room at the inn, and too windy to anchor out.  -The Happy Sailors

Back To Gibraltar

Friday, the 7th we were shooed off the Benalmadena gas dock as soon as we got up.  The weather is perfect, but the Captain is under the weather with a cold, (I'm getting over mine) a legacy from our Barcelona days.  We chugged off trying each port in succession until we lucked into a slip, the narrowest one yet, in Puerto de Jose Banus.  This is where the elite come to profile, and the dock fees are meant to keep out the riff-raff. (Comparable to Florida rates, $2 a foot when we have been paying .50.)  Daytrippers walking along the docks take pictures of us in the cockpit.  (They'll look us up in their celebrity magazines when they get home.)  Others kneel beside a parked Ferrari, Bentley, XK8 convertible, Mercedes, or an Astin Martin to have their pictures taken. We are pressed against the boat fenders of our adjacent vessels and it is the same throughout the marina.  Nester Martin on our starboard side holds court in the cockpit of his 58' cruiser, and invited us to join his circle for Sangria.  He is a semi-retired international corporate lawyer, a colorful character who was captured in the Bay of Pigs Invasion and spent 2 years in Castro's jail. Although we are unlikely to find another marina as congenial as this one we continue to hopscotch 15 miles up the coast on the 9th. We are now within sight of Gibraltar docked at Puerto de la Duguesa Marina in another narrow slip. With no wind Jim was able to back us in as if we had been greased, and we are nestled happily against our adjacent neighbors fenders.  While this marina lacks the flash of yesterdays, it only requires 1/3 the cash and has a scarce amenity:  a coin-op laundry!   -The Imposters

Ceuta, Spanish Morocco:

The morning of the 11th was crisp, promising little wind, but time nonetheless, to move on from our sunny beach 5 minutes walk away.  But not before pulling in alongside "Dances With Waves", another 65 at the same marina for a quick comparison.  Heading out into the Med we were watched closely by net fishermen who waved energetically, and ran their boats between us and their nets until we had come to their farthest float.  Our destination is Ceuta, Morocco.  Rather than take a ferry across the Med to North Africa we decided to sail to the tip of land opposite Gibraltar but held by Spain, one of two points that are a vestige of their former colonial rule of the entire northern half of Morocco. France ruled the southern region until the nation was restore to its monarchy in the 1950's.  All afternoon we alternated between full canvass, reefed main, furled in genoa, motoring, and resetting the genoa until we arrived in the harbor, with gusty winds that knocked my glasses overboard while lowering the main.  The sophisticates of Puerto Banus had me pegged:  I'm boat candy.  (Sweet, but otherwise . . .)  Americans helping with our dock lines gave us the first inkling of the monstrous images awaiting us on CNN in Spanish.  Spanish flags are at half staff, and those realizing we are Americans have stopped to offer condolences.  Rather than watch the same images again and again we fled to "Perros y Gatos", (Dogs & Cats) playing across the street from our slip.  We are very comfortable here.  Sunsets is beside a concrete pier where we parked our rental Renault Clio, a massive pool with a landscaped island in its center where we hung out Wednesday, and convenient access to town. Ceuta is Spanish but mosques occupy one sector, a transition to the Moslem world a few miles beyond.  Thursday after chatting with other yachters who had been to Morocco Jim decided to continue with his usual aplomb-and rent a car.  We met Abdul, a Moroccan tour bus guide at the car rental office.  He had missed his group that morning watching the news broadcasts the night before-and overslept.  We were delighted to have him as our private guide for the day. The border crossing at Fnideq alone would have stopped Jim.  Completing the paperwork of two governments while throngs of people swarmed in front of the car as it inched forward beside a sea of humanity streaming by just beyond the fence to waiting fleets of cabs with as much as they could carry-was intimidating.  They are a human caravan who daily bring Spanish goods into their country without paying the 18% duty.  Once past this hurdle, the drive was pleasant through relatively lush land with flocks of grazing sheep, goats and cattle.  Abdul directed us to a rural village holding its bazaar day.  Cars and donkeys alike paid for parking.  Vegetables, sweets attracting bees and flies, live chickens tied by their feet, herd animals-live and slaughtered, fish all in abundance were offered cheek by jowl with clothing, school supplies, limestone for whitewash, and building materials. We squeezed past men laden with goods and browsers in the thick of it. Refreshed by hot mint tea, we continued to Tetouan, the city of Abdul's birth (he was one of 12), and where his family of 5 lives now.  We have seen narrow streets, but not where above the first story the buildings bridge overhead forming pleasant tunnel walkways in a rabbit warren of streets a native can easily thread to our restaurant. -The Somber Sightseers

Tetouan to Tangier:

Between lunch of saffron couscous, chicken and vegetables with paprika hot sauce, and a visit to a craft outlet where weavers, potters and herbalists did their best to sell us their wares we passed an hour or so immersed in Arabic opulence. Tetouan was where the expelled citizens , Jews and Moors, cast out by Ferdinand and Isabella resettled.  Some trace Spain's decline to this loss of their brain trust:  their financial community that might have kept the new world gold from running so quickly through their fingers, and farmers.  Combined with the exodus of fortune seekers, no one wanted to work the land.  Meanwhile Tetouan became a center of learning.  The town is busily spiffing up:  the king is coming tomorrow, and we saw his advance guard of security people coming in.  We saw many pairs of police officers at intervals along all the roads.  Abdul informed us that we must slow our speed enough to allow them to scrutinize our faces, and then decide whether to halt us or let us pass.  Morocco is no ceremonial monarchy.  Their are elected advisors for the king. Religion is state sponsored; the government builds the mosques.  It also provides schools.  After our tour of the medina (city center) and old fortress walls we were back on the road heading to Tangier overlooking both the Med and the Atlantic.  Princes and kings own palaces here overlooking the sea, and what was formerly run by an international committee is today the 2nd largest city of the country.  We continued along the Atlantic coast to an attraction known as the Caves of Hercules whose mouth opens onto the Atlantic and has been used for millennia to quarry millstones.  With dusk gathering we returned home along the Med coastal highway, dusty in places from construction.  Abdul's land is far removed from the tensions of the Suez area, and the people we met and saw were not the nexus of fanaticism and terror. What has happened at home is universally condemned by men of good will. We took advantage of our car Friday to drive to the top of the 2nd Pillar of Hercules, and to the highlands overlooking  Cetua, then provision Sunsets for her imminent Atlantic return, and will head out Sunday for Gibraltar, that is, if Jim can bear to part with the pool. The African Adventurers -Jim's PS, The "pool" is 3 football fields of landscaped beauty the like of which I have never seen, room for a thousand swimmers and an equal number of chaise-lounged sun worshippers, with a Moorish Castle casino you can swim through in the middle. We were shocked to find this almost new attraction here, admission $2.50., cold beer $1.25. Ya gotta love it!

Making Madeira

We left Ceuta Saturday morning on flat seas motoring straight across to Gibraltar by midday and fueling up. Grocery shopping Sunday, and Jim hoped to replace my glasses Monday-2 weeks for trifocals.  I settled for clip-ons for one of several spares I had. The winds that had been howling through the anchorage towards the east all weekend shifted to the west, and we were underway by 7:00 am Tuesday the 18th.  Stiff breeze from ahead against the outgoing tide makes for a choppy ride under reefed main and motor. Tidal eddies make 3-4 knots difference, so we made frequent tacks to stay in favorable currents and avoid ship traffic; 31 miles in 5 hours put us past the narrowest part of the straits where we unfurled the staysail, then later the genoa, and finally  unreefed the main as the further from the straits the lighter the wind became. From 8 pm we motored all night and the next day until 3 pm when full sails were set until 7, then back to motoring all night. The winds were less than 5 kts from ahead. I can see this passage of 573 miles taking engineless Lin and Larry Pardee (sail magazine writers) 10 days. As this is Joyce and my first real passage with no crew we are doing 4 hours on and 4 off, mostly, and I am using a kitchen timer in my pocket to guard against drifting off for too long. Worst case is a head on ship traveling at 20-22 kts. We are doing 6, so at 28 kts the visible horizon of about 8 miles takes about 17 minutes. I set the timer for 20, but 30 seems to be about the minimum for falling asleep and getting 15 minutes nap. Joyce takes the 8 pm to midnight and 4-8 am preferring to sit on cushions at the top of the companionway stairs and look all around prairie dog style. She sleeps during the day waking up in time to set out my egg, fix lunch and dinner. By 9 am on the 20th we reached the halfway mark of this passage to islands that lie 300 miles off the coast from Casablanca. Two more days of motoring unless conditions improve, but plenty of hot water for showers and no problem cooking.  Joyce fixed steak, potatoes, carrots, and onions with a bottle of semi-sweet white wine (sorry Wally), still, as Gordon says, not too shabby. So far no sign of the hurricane that was bearing down on the Azores when we left Gibraltar, one of 5 September hurricanes since 1896 to do so. All of them continued northeast so hopefully this one will, too, but seems to be taking all the wind with it. Day and night we watch the occasional ship pass, sometimes close, and Joyce had to dodge one last night. About dark the wind picked up and we could sail, but not on course, naturally. At 9 pm I elected to reef the main as the seas quickly built into some old familiar rough pounding. Since Matt and Peter were not here to torture (like we did for three days going to Bermuda summer 2000) I furled the jib, headed off a bit, and went to bed. We bobbed around all night making barely 25 miles in 12 hours. The morning brought torrential downpours and varying winds, not too pleasant. An effort to make a better course resulted in the mainsail splitting along a seam above the 2nd reef. In the ensuing effort to lower the sail the kitchen timer went overboard from my shirt pocket. Oops! As the wind was moderating we started motoring again on course directly into the wind. Gradually clearing skies finally became sunny and blue by 1: 102 miles in 24 hours, 167 to go. We anchored in Porto Santo at 3 pm Saturday and were mopedding by 7. -The Owl & The Pussycat

Porto Santo:

The volcanic landscape that overlooks the harbor is composed of varying shades of tan to brown, moderate hills scored by deep erosion ravines and a broad sandy beach that stretches for miles.  Henry the Navigator of Portugal decreed that the two main islands be settled, and it was the governor's daughter whom Columbus married, a step up in the world for a poor Genoese sailor.  He lived here early in his marriage, his home now serving as a museum, and the reason to hold a week long festival now in progress. It kicked off with a 1 am fireworks display, Sunsets being the vessel nearest to the staging area, or so I'm told.  Miss Pumpkin was fast asleep.  We did attend a concert in the patio of the Columbus home after dinner on the 24th.  The seafood Marisco (shellfish) is worth writing home about:  delicious rice, onions and tomatoes with bivalves tiny shrimp and crayfish tossed in-whole.  You shell them as you find them. The scooter we rented not only lets beagle puppy rove and snoop to his heart's content but also lets me favor my ankle as it regains 100% stamina.  Henry set a difficult task for his colonists.  Everywhere we rode in the hills was terraced from the rocks lifted off the surface, then soil was carried up-all by human power, free and slave, to graze animals. French pirates ravaged the settlers until they realized they were too poor to be worth plundering.  Now the visitors bring in money: 50,000 came over by ferry in August, and it is a port of call for a cruise ship. The hot sunny climate and beach are the draws. In the 1800's the sands were held to be therapeutic, and ruins of mud baths are on the island bus tour circuit.  But the scooter lets you see the whole island, including standing at the base of enormous modern wind mills: gigantic propellers. These 3 are used to pump seawater up into subterranean water desalinators to supply the hospitality support needs. But best of all, Jim found a go-kart race track. Alas, one session with natives whizzing by was enough.  We neglected to tell you in our last message about the British videos we bought in Gibraltar.  Our popcorn was ready, Jim put in a tape, and terrible screen quality ensued-unusable.  Limey VCRs feed the tapes faster than ours.  Who knew? The very first Brits we met in Porto Santo had our cache of tapes delivered to their yacht on approval, and being kind hearted, they bought them.  Besides, neither has to bear the blame for picking a lemon. Sailors are very nice or very strange, sometimes both.  We met fellow Yanks beginning a 7 year odyssey around the world on their 38'steel hull yacht I'll call Kitchen Sink.  The deck is chock-ablock with "toys", and below they are accumulating computer gear trying to  maintain a link to home patching American and European components.  There were 3 aboard for the shake-down Caribbean circuit, but when they got back to Florida the husband, in his 60's, was done.  His wife never batted an eyelash, just drove him home, and returned to continue on with the 33 year old captain-and she's a non-sailor with weak balance but a great love of the cruising life! He said every command is new each day, but it is amazing how sharing half the expenses and being a chipper crew compensates for lack of experience. We have a bead on a sail mender in Funchal to restitch the seam that parted on our main.  It's off the boom wrapped in a tarp like a huge cocoon.  We're underway Tuesday the 25th for Madeira Grande 40 miles southwest under genoa and motor. -The Undaunted

Madeira:

After a pleasant downwind motorsail we passed around the rugged tip of Madeira by a small bay with some interesting fish farming apparatus, looking like a submerged green and white circus tent. Among the various structures was a fleet of Optimist sailing dingies (all wood) with jr skippers braving the 15-20kt winds. We passed Cannical, the former whaling capitol of Madeira, from where 6000 sperm whales were taken between 1940 and 1981. Next was the valley town of Machico, named after unlucky lovers, who escaped parental disapproval only to die following a shipwreck on the lonely shore, survivors of which reported the island back to Prince Henry who sent out the colonizing force which landed, found the lovers grave, and named the town after the man, Robert Machim. Pressing on to Funchal, we stared in amazement at the airport runway of which half is elevated on concrete pilings 100' high. So rapt were we with the sights of this lush land's contrast to stark Porto Santo that the appearance of a fisherman in his white shirt and blue dory beside us close enough to pass the Gray Poupon came as a shock: he had been a whitecap on the sea. At Funchal the small yacht harbor was full and twenty or so hapless vessels surged unhappily in 2'-3' chop, some smaller ones violently. BS! We spun around and motored 10 miles back to Machico where the small, exposed harbor offered some protection, set three anchors to hold the bow into the swell, and settled in for the evening in the company of one other yacht. Compared to Porto Santo's 4 x 7 mile flat dimensions, this isle's 14 x 35 mile steep terrain will need a car. Encouraged by a calm morning the 26th, we rented a Daewoo, a rather powerless Korean car, and set out for Funchal along the modern highway that loops under the airport runway. Funchal is set on twin river valleys with homes climbing the hillsides, and its marina is in the heart of the waterside business district. We found parking at the marina amid a profusion of waterfront restaurants, including a large yacht formerly belonging to the Beetles.  While busily studying our maps we failed to notice the parking lot emptying as noon approached, and were warned of our peril too late! They lock the gate at noon until 8am the next morning to eliminate access to vehicles. We were sprung 15 minutes later by marina staff with stern admonitions. Who knew? The winding road we took up and out of town led to Monte, the home in exile of the last king of Austria. It overlooks a hillside with terraced flowerbeds as far as you can see. A cable car ascends from the harbor whereupon tourists are given "sleigh rides" on wooden two seat sleds down the cobblestone street, guided and pushed when necessary, by two men in white dress and straw boaters hat. Thereafter we traversed the mountain ridge across the island, with many twists and turns and scenic views. The agricultural irrigation system island-wide consists of small concrete ditches running 1300 miles along the ridges with footpaths alongside for maintenance, providing an unparralled hiking mecca and major tourist draw. We hiked a bit, very pleasant, but it is hard to walk very far away from my "wheels". The trip back to Machico was shortened unexpectedly by several long tunnels that by-passed the old twisty road on the map, and we completed our day with a tour of Machico, with its cute little fort, 1450 church, the first Portugese church built outside the mainland, and a delicious fish dinner at one of the many restaurants. -The Madeiran Mariners

Madeira Grande:

Madeira means timber in Portuguese, much of which was removed by the colonists to make way for crops of grapes and sugar cane.  Porto Santo today is planting pines on the crest of its highlands to restore and preserve its land. While uninhabited prior to the 1400's these islands were known to the Phoenicians and may be part of the lost kingdom of Atlantis of folklore. Besides the two inhabited islands there are two other groups, the Desertas visible offshore, and the Selvangens so far south that they appear on maps of the Canary Islands.  The latter are bird sanctuaries off-limits to boaters.  With our Daewoo we put in three full days traversing mountains, valleys and a highland plateau that serves as a rain catchment basin feeding the island's springs, waterfalls and irrigation canals known as levadas.  The roads are good but with no shoulders and non-existent parking make for exciting driving for Mr. Toad on his Wild Ride.  Full size buses wend their way up the craggiest heights to drop off hikers and provide public transportaion.  They thread their way around parked cars, narrow turns, and laden construction trucks bringing rock and gravel down from the quarries while pedestrians flatten themselves against the walls.  Intermittent fog and rain merely add a little extra spice.  Suffice it to say that Mr. Toad himself decreed a day of rest aboard Sunsets when our rental contract expired.  Had we been here August 2-4 we could have taken in the Madeira Car Rally on a route that "covers the entire island, including some of the scariest mountain hairpins to be found anywhere," according to the tourist promotion bulletin.  Lacking flat land the Madeirans have taken to tunneling.  I have never felt so akin to a hamster in those plastic tube runs as I have using the modern roads here that take you into the sunshine on elevated stretches briefly before burrowing you beneath houses, a waterfall, fields and mountain again. With our trusty guidebook and a map we set out for a variety of sights.  We always saw sights, but not necessarily the ones we aimed for. The western shoreline has a resort complex featuring lava formed salt water pools; banana plantations cover the slopes of the southern shore; grapes grow in the Estrello de Camara de Lobos region where the Maderian Wine Festival was held September 14-22.  The town had strung a mile of flower banners along the highway and among its terraces, and was still broadcasting music to passers by when we passed on the 28th:  the party wasn't over yet!  We sampled Malmesay at a winery, but found it a bit strong being nowadays a fortified wine.  Madeiran wine has been famous since the time of Shakespeare, and very popular in England.  The heat of long passages in the tropical routes to the Caribbean gave it its distinctive qualities now duplicated by a period of warming at the winery. The access to the levadas proved too elusive.  We wanted to hike one with an unlit tunnel but the entrances are not marked.  Some have ledges as narrow as 18" adjacent to shear drops and are not advised if there has been rain. The locals must be part mountain goat with indefatigable gams.  We drove past a 12 year old clinging to a windowsill with a squeegee washing the window with a 200' shear drop below.  Later we found a mysterious set of cables running straight down a cliff to the vicinity of a a dock far below.  This must be used to lower the agricultural products and raise up goods to the residents.  An alpine drive in a tropic setting.  -The Goats

Funchal Farewell:

Calm conditions Sunday morning, the 30th prompted us to head for the capital city, Funchal, home to 48,000 of the island's 255,000 people where we tanked up again and topped off our water.  The sailmaker here operates from his boat which is now "on the hard" for bottom painting; we'll find someone in the Canaries.  The city makes the most of its verdure with many gardens overlooking the harbor and a statue to Joao Zarco, a discoverer and first governor.  Of humble origins he kidnapped a noble's daughter as his wife, and rose to success serving  Henry the Navigator.  This was also the favorite wintering spot in the mid 1800's of the queen of Austria.  Museums, churches, a cathedral, and symphony orchestra offer culture.  We were content to walk the cobbled streets and enjoy the cable car ride to Monte and the sled descent back to town. Beach walks on Madeira require shoes for the black basalt stones that polish themselves in the ebbing of waves making a rattling sound as they tumble over each other.  We thought of Gordon when we found a tiny restaurant in old town whose windows are covered by letters sent to the owner from vacationers returned home reminiscing about their meals.  Best loved operatic music in the background, vegetables straight from the poios (terraces), and scabbard, an eel-like, black, toothy fish from the depths of the Atlantic with few bones and succulent flavor combined the best land and sea has to offer.  Yachters, Trevor and Jenny from "Life's Dream" came aboard Monday evening for drinks before leaving for a concert.  This is the May-December pair we met at Porto Santo.  They are adventurers!  They put in 3 full days hiking the levadas, tenting overnight, and were rarin' to go for the nightlife.  Ma and Pa Kettle went to bed anticipating our 8 am departure 20 minutes before the sun peeked over the hills in a blazing red sky  for Lanzarote, easternmost Canary Island whose harbor at Arrecife lies 290 miles from our anchorage. The day was gray with rain clouds surrounding us but we seemed to dodge the weather on flat seas. We motored past the Desertas (deserted islands) and will later skirt the Selvages, (wild ones) where Trevor and Jenny have permission to land to see the birdlife, as we leave Portugese territory and enter Spanish waters.  I call Sunsets "Sushi Bar" when the ospreys at home perch in the spreaders to enjoy their fish. We'll admire the pod of 12 dolphins at our bow and give the birds a wide berth. I prepared the captain's favorite meal of the briny:  boiled onions, cabbage and potatoes with sausage.  Me Irish relations must be beaming down from heaven.  I'll take the watches beginning and ending at 8, just before sunrise.  Europeans have their clocks adjusted later than ours by the sun.  When we crossed from Ceuta to Morocco we set our watches back 2 hours approximating home time until our return to the Spanish enclave.  Night watches are relatively easy with the autohelm steering from the indoor nav station and a radar screen bright enough for me to read by. An alarm sounds if another vessel is within 7 miles of Sunsets, and sat nav plots our position and tracks our progress all the way to port.  By 7 pm of the 3rd we had time to anchor with 20 other yachts at La Sociedad on Isla Graciosa, one of 6 minor Canary Islands just north of Lanzarote, one of the 7 main islands splayed across 240 miles of the Atlantic.  The low hills ringing us have low tussocks of grass.  Ma & Pa