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

Sunsets Across the Atlantic - MacGregor 65 - Departure and the Atlantic

Bon Voyage:

Sunsets boarded her crew June 22 at Casa Rio with an 11th hour substitution.  Jennifer Beck of Belize fame was derailed by her job, of all things.  Cap't Jim & Joyce preempted that possibility by canceling our lease of 20 years at the A1 boat yard, leaving a recorded message to prospects that we will be back in the spring-or summer at the latest-to sell them a MacGregor, and delegating Mark Talbott to manage our affairs in our absence.  Hunter 26 owner, Tom Harty, signed on for the sail to Bermuda.  His wife, Barbara, had planned to meet him there, but with Jen's berth available-and a surge of adventure she hopped aboard at 2:30 am before we cast off at 8.  Sunsets is sporting new cruising gear:  deluxe Bimini, radar, auto-pilot and weather-fax. Mark Talbott was shanghaied as far as Solomon's in a  valiant effort to teach us how to use the weather fax program (interpreting the images being another unknown).  This is learn-as-you-go, and our departure was stow-as-you-go:  our year's provisions were largely heaped on the floor of the forward quarter-berth & v-berth area-victims of our hectic pace.  We delivered a new boat Thurs, moved out of A1 Fri am (Jim dodged a 9 am root canal with a filling instead), winterized our home Fri pm, and moved aboard Sunsets at 3:00 am!  Saturday's sail to Solomons was capped by meeting brother Allen, Carol, Fritz & Lily for a farewell dinner at the Captain's Table and indulgent showers at Calvert Marina.  By Sunday's departure with all hand's helping everything was stowed for our full canvass blast onto the Bay from the Patuxent River in 15 knot winds from the North and the Captain's exuberant, "YE HA" cheer.  Calmer winds and a patient auto-pilot carried us all afternoon wing 'n wing with pole set as harnesses and safety jack line are rigged for night watches. Chef Tom microwaved Tacos:  I'm in heaven!  Veering off shore at Virginia Beach with fireworks display, a setting crescent moon as yellow as the twinkling lights of shore, busy shipping lanes that prompted the green crew to frequent Captain's consultations through the night's sailing under full main and genoa saw us on a direct course to our first port of call.  My sunrise watch was escorted by a pod of 15 dolphins hugging our hull and arching playfully alongside for 10 minutes, the only ones the whole trip.  By 9 am Monday we were reefing the main, in the gulf stream by noon under pleasantly rolling seas with the Captain testing our wind generator in its sea propulsion mode:  a sea driven prop attached by a line like a trolling free to twirl off the stern  that is led to an armature secured to the transom life lines that transmits all the electricity through a wire plugged into our battery via a mid-ship plug.  Jonathan Swift & His Electric Grandmother!  Hove to for swimming and showers off the stern. Its Chili tonight courtesy of Scullery Maid Barb & Chef Tom. Motored all night with a steadying mainsail, then put up staysail, genoa & main 'till mid-afternoon Tuesday gliding effortlessly over placid seas.  Half-way there from Norfolk!  Sailed under cruising spinnaker during dinner, but lowered sails ahead of gentle showers.  The early setting moon and cloudless night revealed the Milky Way as a white band arching overhead.  Matt & Peter, where are you?   The Mariners

Bermuda Bound:

Wednesday's placid seas gave way to flat seas and plodding along under motor with a Bermuda Long Tail circling above confirming our GPS reading of 130 miles at 9 am.  A sailfish gave our lure play for several minutes before self-releasing.  Dinner below at the Captain's table was sumptuously catered by team Harty.  We stood our final watches with Captain Jim piloting us past the reefs as we entered St. George's Harbor and dropped anchor at 5 am-our time-assisted by the able crew, the Hartys.  Thursday the 28th, after clearing customs, we'll inflate the dinghy and swagger into the White Horse tavern for a Dark 'N Stormy, Gosling's Black Seal Rum and Ginger Beer, and Sheppard's Pie for supper.  Well, we'll swagger AFTER we set anchor, made difficult by the arrival of a norther we wanted the last two days of mostly motoring.  Converting our wind generator to a windmill prop from the sea prop trolled behind on a 100' line meant unkinking said line that had twirled as taunt as a rubber band that launches a toy airplane.  Ditto for our secondary anchor line whose kinks Barb & Tom tackled.  But all the while we are gazing at the verdant hills tinged with pink blossoms, whitewashed limestone roofs, azure waters under a crisp, clear sky that define Bermuda's charm. Waiting at the customs dock for pick up was a group  heading for a Russian research vessel that for $35,000 a head will take guests diving to the Titanic, Bismarck, or Atlantis.
The Bermuda Four

Sunsets languishes in the Bermuda sunshine in St. George's Harbor.

 Photo 11:40AM 7/01/01 from Bermuda webcam 

Azores Reflections:

Friday (the 29th) in Bermuda was scooter rental day with Jim the tour guide leading our band of 4.  It was Barb's first cycle experience having promised her parents as a teen she would abstain from two wheeled motorized conveyances for safety's sake.  She has not only had a surge of adventure, but a spark of delayed teen rebellion as well!  Not only are the sights breathtaking, but the fragrances of all the blooms makes winding over hill and dale a pleasure-except for the saddle sores!  Frequent stops-at the Swizzle Inn for lunch & libations, Horseshoe Bay for a swim, the Royal Hamilton Bermuda Dinghy Club to congratulate the first place yacht in the Marion to Bermuda race, an Island Packet 35, "Spinache", and back to St George's before dark.  No road rash for us nor trying to remember, "When you're right, you're wrong," and "Left is right," after our Dark 'N Stormies. Our crew is heading out on Saturday for another round of scooter sightseeing before their Sunday noon departure while Jim tackles make-ready chores before "the big one." Confirmed Mark Svenson's arrival Monday noon, but he likely would enjoy some R & R before putting out to sea.  My chore is meal planning/shopping list preparation since it will be a three week stint 'till the next store.  I still think Benjamin Franklin was correct when he coined the adage, "Small wives should stay near shore," but my alternative staying home was to turn 55 in October and join the local Senior Center.  I think they'll still take me next year when I'm 56 so its off I go to have something to tell my grandchildren about my crossing in "ought one."  Actually, the forecast maps indicate we'll have to head north to find wind, otherwise we'll cook and slat around in the doldrums.  We used 2/3 of a fuel tank steaming into Bermuda, but we can't motor clear to the Azores. It'll have to be the sailing life for us.
Small Wife

Be A Gypsy:

"Be a gypsy, live a little, get around, get your feet up off the ground."  For the next three weeks that's exactly what we will do as we wend our way to the Azores.  Jim was successful yesterday using our laptop computer and portable radio in downloading a weatherfax sans our techie, Talbott.  The whole affair is quite improbable looking with antenna wire strung out a window, and other extraneous wires linking one machine to the other and lastly across the aisle to a power source, humming different frequencies as signals download and frequency strengths vary.  It looks like an old fashioned switchboard and warbles like a deranged fax, but an image did come through showing a huge high pressure system encompassing all of the "freckles" of the Atlantic as I sometimes call my destinations (that's how they look on a large scale map).  Duplicating this feat under sea conditions boggles the mind.  Sunday saw the departure of the stalwart Hartys (and the end of sunny weather) and possibly my last female companion for the duration.  With all that sea ahead we squandered Sunday on a day in Hamilton, Bermuda's capital at the other end of the island, this time reached by bus. Brunch at M.R. Onions and the latest sci-fi flick from Spielberg, "Artificial Intelligence," and walks through Hamilton's beautiful parks and a unique "clock" tower, displaying wind direction as the vane above was spun:  "W" today.  Summer and Friday-Sunday is the island's time to curl up and relax:  cruise ships only dock from Mon-Thurs, and the high season for visiting yachts is about done.  Streets are empty.  We took the last bus of the day back to St Georges. There was no such thing as "too full," but with reserved, polite people crowding is no problem.  No wonder our parish priest comes here each year by cruise ship on vacation.  It is a modern Eden, eschewed by the Spanish due to it's treacherous reefs, the salvation of the later British vessel, "Sea Venture" lodged between 2 rocks in St Georges Harbor in a hurricane having been driven ashore through the island's only safe approach.  From that ship's remains the vessel "Deliverance" was fashioned and completed "Sea Venture's" original mission, replenishing the Jamestown colonists 2 years late as that discouraged band was sailing downriver in despair.  Bermuda, once labeled the devil's island for its reefs, uninhabited before the shipwreck, inspiration for Shakespeare's "Tempest", has become a gem beckoning yachties and vacationers alike to return yet again.  May the Azores be as delightful, but hopefully, not quite so beckoning for my captain, who, by the way, isn't shaving for the duration.    Captain Mark Svenson arrives Monday.  We sail with the tide.
Joyce & The Chia Pet

Half Way:

Between Mark Svenson's 1 pm flight and our 5 pm departure he was on an accelerated tourist schedule:  cheeseburgers at the White Horse Tavern (indisputably paradise), a stroll down Convict Lane (no body else could be found to build the roads) to the beach where our dinghy was secured.  It's proximity to our anchorage on a day throwing up chop in the harbor made it too tempting.  Now if the captain had only believed that our overnight rain could be repeated in the daytime we would have closed the hatch over the forward quarterberth BEFORE setting out for lunch all would have remained dry as we ate.  As it was we achieved that authentic nautical funk overnight.  125 gallons of diesel and enough water to top our tank set us back $671-and we had had a lead on duty free fuel earlier over nightcaps at the Yacht Club, although our "source" seemed determined to only let members of his Virginia Yacht Rally members in on the details.  Who needs to use that fuel anyhow?  We're Gloucestermen, I mean, sailors.  The night of our departure was heralded by displays of lightening that resembled one of those Telsa machines at a science exhibit.  Jagged bolts were spiking out in all directions at once Medussa-like but fortunately at a distance.  Our radar paid for itself that night.  It shows rain as well as ships, and the course we steered was simply out of the path of the nastiness.  From that time until the midway point of 830 miles reached on July 8 it has been a Joyce passage with the Captain chaffing for more wind.  I'll take a level, sedate pace of 5 knots anytime.  We sailed for days under spinnaker and main with our faithful autopilot doing all the steering, the ocean all to ourselves, dining below at the table replete with wine goblets.  Alright, the wine goblets had to go.  Wave lurches toppled 2 goblets but we have adapted to partaking in stable mugs.  Gordon's red wine was lovely as have been several bon voyage gifts.

It is not lonely out here when you can remember all the sailors who came aboard Sunsets to see us off.  Victuals have been holding out fine, and the sunny weather allowed us to air our wet rugs and put the mildew to rout.  I haven't cooked for a bachelor in a while.  Be there leftovers and his mind is riveted as each new mealtime arises:  pasta, or soup, he keeps repeating wistfully.  I'll be able to use the microwave with the generator to reheat a bountiful lasagna and an equally generous 15 Bean Ham Soup  alternate nights probably from here to Santa Cruz, Flores the outermost of the Azores.  Our passage hasn't been entirely isolated.  On the 7th we passed 2 freighters heading West alerting us to the need for vigilance during our night watches.  Mine is now permanently 8-11 ever since I slept through lunch one day and crew had to fend for themselves in the galley.  The radar alarm roused Jim one watch-for a ship that passed us 16 miles away.  We have seen some bird life.  The small ones darting around Sunsets at night in bat-like passes.  They must be after the flying fish, some of which we find beached on the deck in the morning.  The 8th was a banner day for marine sightings starting with a pod of dolphins in the morning, 4 sunbathing whales and a sea turtle, all capped by a photo-op sunset after a full day of sailing with full canvass:  main, staysail and genoa.  After lollygagging our way the first half, our wind is picking up enough for an overnight reef in the main, and a broad grin on the captain's face.
-Cook, Ahab and the Mighty Sven

3/4 Way Across:

The high pressure area continues to give us blue skies, gentle breezes with an occasional burst of speed but mostly in the 6-7 kt range. Starry nights, sparkling phosphorescent wake, balmy temperatures, deck showers, formal dinners below with wine, no foul weather gear or harnesses. In short, amazing! We watched a couple movies and spend the days reading or relaxing. Autopilot and GPS do all the work, and the radar watches over us while we snooze. Fresh provisions are gradually running out, no lettuce, celery, fruit, bread, pretzels, potato chips, ketchup, pickles, but plenty cervesa {beer}. I haven't fished at all, hard to imagine anything here, and the plentiful seaweed quickly fouls fishhooks. We have really enjoyed the cd's prepared for us by Mark Talbott and "the muses" of Battlecat. We miss our friends, even while looking forward to new adventures. Right now, 7/11 8am, we are motorsailing 100degrees @ 6.5kts in very light air, totally calm seas with the barest swell from the north, 332miles from Flores, Azores. - Cap't Jim, Cleopatra, and Scalawag.

Newsflash! just contacted 23 yachts, 2 in sight, the first single handing from Cape Cod, low on fuel and water, struggling with disabled self-steering gear, the 2nd left Bermuda 6/26, doing ok but also limited fuel and water, the 3rd, a Shannon 47 ketch, left Bermuda 6/27, saving fuel when possible, doing 2 knots under genoa. We left 7/2 have motored 36 hours and have enough to motor all the way to Flores if necessary, loads of water, hot showers, cold beer, and 5 days faster already. It's almost embarrassing!

Flores:

After our 54 hours motoring wind arose on the 13th allowing us to sail into port starting out with main and spinnaker then wing and wing with the top 5 feet of genoa furled to better adapt to our pole.  The Mighty Sven earned his rations today.  Deterioration of the block needed to lower the spinnaker made handling it a bear, wrestling with the pole on the foredeck, and bringing the main safely to the opposite side are tasks for an able-bodied seaman.  Flores is geologically part of the North American continent, a volcanic rock pushed to the surface by the collision with Europe, the source of the remaining Azores to the southeast.  After clear skies we fell under the spell of the cloud shrouded summit with amazing winds and weather swirling around it's bluffs.  The anchorage at Lages is mostly a breakwater jutting from shore with thirty yachts swaying as the gusts shift them.  With 50' depth and threatening skies it fell to the faithful Sven to heave out ALL the contents of our anchor locker and sort out two commingled coils of chain.  Dinner by candlelight at 8:00, the last of my Mayo meals tucked away in the freezer, was a grand celebration-and sturdy fortification for shifting gears to harbor life.  The morning of the 14th has the crew replacing the spinnaker block, checking for chafe, and pumping up the dinghy.  Time to brush up on our Portugese:  Tres cervejas (beers), por favor.
-The Mariners From Off the Sea

Flores Farewell:

If my Latin was stronger I would have known what to expect to find on Flores:  flowers.

With 300 days of rain per year and fine mists in the highlands always Hydrangeas (water-lovers) prosper along with pink roses with blooms in tight clusters and red and yellow calla lilies lining the roads and dividing the fields in the shelter of stone walls.  Grazing cows and sheep are rotated from among the fields.  Saturday afternoon we went from Porta das Lajes to Santa Cruz by taxi and had a family style dinner of pork, french fries, rice, salad and crusty bread at a local bistro where no English was spoken.  We just pointed to the fare at the adjacent table.  The new breakwater at Lages forms a much more spacious harbor than Santa Cruz now favored only by locals.  Previous chronicle readers know how unfavorable it can be to put into a port of call on a weekend.  But we were tipped off by another mariner, Maureen, an Aussie, to look for a Land Rover at Lages along the sea wall.  Spotting him from our dinghy, we did an about face, filled out the forms, paid not a cent and were on our way to cocktails with Maureen aboard  Dick Talley's "Rainbow Rider" of Solomons Island inside of 15 minutes.  The only comment by officialdom:  Mark in casual clothes made an amusing contrast to the tie-strangled gent in his passport photo!  The harbor was alive with a host of boys and girls messing around in Optimists and the tales of our fellow mariners.  The Captain of "Goose" rescued his friend's vessel and towed it 758 miles after a Cousteau vessel took its single-handed captain aboard stricken with appendicitis.  He was air-lifted to a hospital but keep declining transfers because it meant scuttling his vessel.  Sunday we caught up with the crew of "Satori" with whom we had conversed at sea. "Now" also made it in, but "Shellback" is still turtling along.  We got a peek inside Our Lady of the Rosary, the westernmost church in Europe, had brunch at a cafe above the harbor, met the crew of a catamaran, "Katia" that had a collision with a whale that stopped them in their tracks.  Poor whale, first one hull got him, then the next before he got clear of them, fortunately, a mild tempered fellow.  Lages is as quiet on Sunday as Turkey Point with the locals enjoying their rocky beach.  Fritz and Albert M.  will be interested to know that the Zundapp motorcycle still lives, replacing the donkey as a tow vehicle for a cart.  The town is gearing up for a 4 day festival, erecting tents and slaughtering a pig for a pork roast. (We found farmers singeing off piggy's hair on our valiant attempt to climb to the crater lake:  too misty and too far.)  Stay for the fiesta?  No doubt, other captains weary of the sea would.  But for Sunsets, its on to Horta, main port of the "Acores" on the isle of Faial about 150 miles away cranked to starboard with briny over her bow and sluicing down her rail.
-Adam, Eve and Sven of the Seven Seas

Adios Horta:

Tuesday, the 17th was Hertz day. Coming back the route was so clear on the map, but heading off involved side trips to residential areas dead ending at ravines, a legacy of Faial's volcanic origin.  Breathtaking scenery along the coast made a stark contrast to the devastated area from an  eruption 40 years ago that covered 300 houses burying them in ash up to their rooflines.  The area surrounding a destroyed lighthouse is a virtual moonscape where nothing grows yet.  In the interior of the island a former lake was drained by the eruption so you can gaze into the empty caldeira (crater) nearly a mile across and 1000' deep.  Along the seaside a natural spa has been developed into a swimming pool nestled in volcanic rock and using geothermal heat!  Like Flores, Hydrangeas grow everywhere.  Construction and rehabilitation is proceeding apace during the dry season. We struck up an acquaintance with Lorrie Wood, crew of "Kookaburra", who has become our Portuguese guru for the best nightspots in Horta and coastal ports on the mainland Algarve coast.  She is cited in the credits for the guidebook, "Atlantic Spain and Portugal," by Oz Robinson that we just bought.  Wending down Horta's sidewalks featuring white stone inlays contrasting the dark cobbles which depict island themes from windmills to lighthouses, the 4 of us celebrated a farewell dinner at a restaurant that brings you raw thinly sliced meats, shrimp and fish which each diner cooks in front of him on his personal heated rock slab.  Great fun and no blaming the chef if its overcooked!  The town was alive at 10:30 with the bar clientele all along the seawall in front of Peter Sport Cafe which broadcasts "What Do You Do With a Drunken Sailor" at closing.  Then the action shifts to another locale, then the disco 'till 4 am, or so I'm told.  Miss Pumpkin was home by midnight, but we did have Azorian liquors made from passion fruit and pineapple on the terrace of a fort, overlooking the harbor lights, now a hotel. Yum! It's off the 70 miles to Terceria (3rd island by discovery & size) on the 19th to the port of Angra do Heroismo (Bay of Heros) on the southern coast threading our way slowly by motor between Sao Jorge and Pico. Last we'll see Sao Miguel where the plantation and liquor factories are, that is, as soon as we solve the continental electricity transformer puzzle so we can use shore power while Mark, preserver of fair weather, adds "Sunsets" to Horta's sea wall to appease Neptune. That done by noon and we're off again.        -The Electrician, Miss Pumpkin and Sven the Artiste

P.S. The morning of the 20th began with ambitions to do the town and island by storm.  By 2:00 the historic town's churches, forts, museums and hills got the better of us.  We narrowly escaped another car rental as the office failed to reopen on time after lunch.  We'll get a siesta instead then dinghy ashore for local cuisine and a 9:30 harpsichord, flute and vocalist concert in the Misericordia Church. The town dates to the 1500s.  Buildings have thick walls and red tiled roofs with church spires dominating the skyline. We are anchored just outside the seawall overlooking the city, an impressive 16th century Spanish fort still in use by the military, firing cannons to compete with the hourly church bells and a 1 month old marina.  The commercial port will be moved to another port which will create a sea wall large enough for the 65.

Ola, Sao Miguel:

Domingo, July 22, Bom Dia (Good morning) We sailed the 92 miles from our anchorage to a slip at Ponta Delgada in 12 hours under main and spinnaker setting the genoa when the breeze picked up. We are on the most populous and modern Azorian island.  Even so, we met again with Anderson, a Swedish travel agent, whom we first saw at the dry crater on Faial.

 Mark enjoyed talking about the south of Sweden where his grandfather lived. This morning we'll deflate the dinghy and make ready for our next 800 mile sea passage to Lisboa (Lishbowa as the natives say it) sightseeing ashore 2 days here first. Each of the islands has sulfur springs, geysers, etc.  This one has a restaurant that cooks stews using geothermal heat. The Island makes electricity from geothermal heat also. The yearly climate ranges from 50s to 70s:  shorts weather now and no mosquitoes. The mountains have scenic lakes in the volcano craters, and the vistas from the top are breathtaking. Of course, hydrangeas to 12' tall line many roadways and hillside fences. We had difficulty finding a decent restaurant in the smaller towns, they have mostly local "cantina" type places, but finally looked in the guide book as a last resort and found quite a nice one, tucked away behind a wall, invisible for all practical purposes. WE plan more touring tomorrow morning, with perhaps a dip in the very nice public pool next to the marina in the pm, then off to Portugal on Tuesday, hoping for a 6 day trip. Our slip mate single-handed his 45' sloop here from Holland, the last 700 miles under emergency tiller as his steering gear failed, so no autopilot, and no crew.       -the be-back gang. (we'll be back)

Crossing to Portugal:

Day 3 mileage 147. Day 4: I woke up and Mark was asleep in the cockpit, boat doing 2.3 kts, so motorsailed just an hour when wind increased, soon doing 9.5, but cranked over unpleasantly, so furled genoa to reduce heel (and speed, to 7.5) Waves picking up, light pounding by 8:30, likely to get worse. Goodbye favorable winds, but we are moving well, 15 degrees low on our course. Day 4 run 134 miles. Day 5: Dancing whitecaps on a blue sea, with puffy white clouds made a pleasant backdrop for Joyce's cabbage soup concoction for lunch. By 4pm the scene had changed to mostly grey waves, the larger ones slamming against the hull with enough impact to remind me we are on the ocean again. Matt, Peter and Diane probably remember it pretty well. We are clawing to windward to buy a little room so we can ease off tonight to get some sleep. Joyce is sitting on the floor fixing dinner. We have been badly spoiled by all the nice, easy downwind sailing and going upwind takes some adjustment.7pm time to reef the main. We're moving well, 8-9 kts, later we did 10-11. Rough night, difficult sleeping, Mark and I got about 1-2 hours sleep. Calmer and grey in the morning, so we unwound the genny and a few hours later sailed past Cabo Roca into the river Tagus and Lisbon. Total crossing time 36days of which 22 were underway. There being no room at the marina, we docked in the "no man's land" community of derelicts outside the marina secure area, and are resting up this evening. We may actually stay put for a week. Cheers and Happy sailing to you all.
- Jim, Joyce and Mark, the calm ocean voyagers.

Crossing Continued:

This letter chronicles the sailing details of the crossing, without Joyce's witticisms. My apologies to the non-sailors. Underway, after checking out formalities, at 10am, tues 24th. Wing and wing along the south coast of San Miguel was smooth, lazy sailing, no ocean swell (blocked by the island), stretched out on deck cushions, watching the scenery slide by, definitely ideal. Once out from under San Miguel, the wind died and the swell rolled the boat, sails slatting. More motoring. Difficulty sleeping from the sloppy motion, plus being spoiled by a week at marinas. One ship passed, fairly close @3/4 mile on the radar, but no course change necessary. Day 2: Woke up crabby from lack of sleep, more motoring, finally set sails before lunch, wing and wing, 3 kts. Wind gradually picked up during the day, making 6kts by dinner. With the boat level but rolling some, Joyce fixed a dinner of steak w/onions, potatoes, red cabbage with raisins. Plenty of cheap Portuguese wine ($1.75/bottle), fresh cheese, salad with little orange pound cake muffins for dessert. No weight loss on this trip! The wind was steady all night, 6kts wing and wing, pretty much on course. Day 3: First days run of 142 miles should be easily exceeded as the morning breeze freshened and speed increased to 7-8, broad reaching with the genny partially rolled in (to flatten the sail) and the pole still up. There are small whitecaps but the boat motion is pleasant if a bit rolly due to quartering seas. 10am, generator and inverter charging the batteries, Mark sleeping ( he had the 2am-6am watch) Joyce reading in the cockpit, me typing. So it goes. Noon, 2nd days run 160 miles. Fantastic jumping Dolphin display, at least 100 leaping and cavorting 75yds alongside. Mark and I had just spoken about the lack of Dolphins and flying fish. Now it's just the fish! Motoring again at midnight to 8am. Day 4: Set spinnaker, brief excitement as speed hit 9 kts, but gradually died to zip by lunch. Motoring, then motorsailing with genoa@ 3:30, faster by 5:30, sailing 7.5kts at 8pm, 11pm motoring in flat calm. Midnight overheat alarm sounds. Being below reading I missed the alternator warning light which came on when the alt. belt shredded, causing the engine to overheat. A couple hours later the belt is changed and motoring again, when wind picks up from ahead, so roll out staysail and genoa for lovely night sail to 5am. -Jim