Only in a Catholic country? (Terry)

We’re sitting at the 1812 Restaurant on the night before last (31/8) at an outdoor table enjoying tapas and beer and wine and generally watching the world walk past.  It’s a narrow street in the old city style – you can almost reach from one balcony to the other side.  It slopes down to the waterfront a mile or so away. Anyway, there’s this banging coming along the street.  A stick being thumped into the ground with some force, and a secondary, metallic sound.  It’s a kid of about 8 to 10 with a staff about 4’ long.  He’s bringing the base down onto the ground with a bang and there’s another sound as metal bits of the staff then also make a sound.  As he brings it down, he stops his walk and “proclaims” something.  He then begins his walk again, Left, right, left, right, shuffle, feet together, stop, call out, left, right, left, right shuffle, feet together, stop, call out.  Behind him is a smaller guy and this guy is carrying a Lego house or somesuch, all red and gold, about 12’’ square.  He’s doing the left, right shuffle too.

I was having trouble working out what was going on until I twigged that they were acting out a standard Spanish religious procession.  They were doing their own!  The guy in front was doing the Bishop thing, banging the ground and calling out the chant, the guy behind is carrying the image etc.  Amazing.

More amazing – we were in the main square last night (i.e. the night after) for dinner and a look at Cadiz by night and here they are again marching about one corner of the square.  Bishop-in-training is wandering about with purpose banging his rod on the ground and his acolyte is holding up a Rosary and following him.  Then they got tired of that game and went and sat down with their families and had an icecream.  It’s a hard life being a religious devotee.

Ola Cadiz!

After a pleasant enough overnight sail, our entrance into the Bay of Cadiz was quite eerie, as a thick white fog rolled out over the sea, reducing visibility to only about 100 metres.  Larger vessels were visible on the radar screen, but it was still a bit disconcerting to see boats suddenly loom out of the mist like ghost ships, and to hear the moaning of a foghorn somewhere up ahead.  We circled around for a while hoping that the morning sun and the breeze would disperse the fog, but when that didn’t happen we got bored and headed in to the harbour anyway.

Even though the main container port and the military base are on the opposite side of the bay, there is still a lot of maritime activity here, with fishing boats, yachts, ferries, police and rescue vessels and cruise ships all using the harbour. Most mornings we wake up to see yet another new giant cruise ship berthed at the customs dock!  The city marina is quite good, though it’s about a one-mile bike ride along the waterfront to get into the old town. It was obviously built in the heady days before the GFC – way more grandiose than it needed to be – and now much of the space intended for shops, restaurants and facilities is derelict. I would be willing to bet that someone’s brother-in-law got the brick paving contract, a friend of a friend got the fencing, the wife’s godson got the dock construction … all high quality and way more than warranted by the modest fleet of small power boats and average yachts that use it. Still, facilities are good and the marina staff are very helpful, as are the staff of the small chandlery on site.

Old Cadiz itself is great. Inhabited at least since Neolithic times, it has the layers of Roman, Moorish and Spanish imperial history that we saw in Seville. We visited a fascinating archaeological dig near the cathedral, where evidence of each of these layers is on display under a perspex walk-over, along with artefacts they’ve discovered. Herodotus, the ancient historian, records that the original inhabitants of the peninsula were so fierce that traders from Carthage would never meet them face-to-face: they left goods on the shore then sent smoke signals from their ships. The Cadizians (?) would leave gold and other stuff, take the traded goods, then leave the coast clear for the sailors to come and collect. Cadiz was Spain’s major seaport during the ‘golden age of discovery’ – Cortes sailed from here, as did Columbus on his second voyage to the Americas. And the ill-fated Armada, of course, though we don’t much like to talk about that here.

Mary and Joseph spent the entire family clothing budget on themselves.

Despite the evidence of financial gloom everywhere, the Spanish still know how to live well. You can’t walk a block in town without encountering a café, bar or restaurant where wonderful food and wine are available for next to nothing. One of our favourite meals – a great range of tapas with a couple of drinks each at the 1812* Restaurant – cost a grand total of 17 euros. Parks and squares are the places to be in the balmy evenings; everyone is out for a stroll, usually dressed in style, stopping to chat with friends or enjoy a drink. The kids are there too, playing, skating, eating icecreams at midnight; babies are obviously the stars of any show. Despite – or perhaps because of – Spain’s very low birthrate, there seems to be a huge baby industry. Children’s clothing is exquisite, and prams look more like luxury cars.

Because fountains are fun!

There are great beaches along the coast here, and they are very relaxed places. Everyone goes to the beach. Nut-brown kids jump off the rocks, handsome young men kick soccer balls around, beautiful golden skinned girls stroll along the shore, the leathery old guys stand around in their shorts in knee-deep water and even the old ladies bring down their deck chairs and sit in circles to chat. Our fold-up bikes have been a great asset here – Cadiz is contained within a small peninsula and it is pretty flat, so you can ride everywhere, including the narrow streets of the old town. It’s been fun to explore another Spanish city, and we’ll certainly head back to Spain on the way back out of the Med, but now it’s time to set sail for North Africa. Only 50 miles across the strait to Tangier; the weather should be good and we’ll head off in the morning. Adios!

 

 

*Still celebrating the defeat of Napoleon – this is the bicentennial year

 

Faro - the Barrier Islands

The 40 mile day trip from Lagos to Faro was intended as a short shake-down, to make sure the sails and the new instruments were all working well; thankfully they exceeded expectations. We picked up a nice 15 knot breeze straight out of the channel and as soon as the sails were up we were flying! Common Sense felt beautifully balanced – even when the wind dropped to only 7 knots we were still heading smoothly towards our destination. The improved radar, huge colour chartplotter and the new AIS gave us a clear picture of what was going on around us. If only we’d had all this good gear for the Atlantic crossing, we’d have saved several days and a lot of anxious moments. Paddy, you would love it!

Once in the entrance to Faro, we motored about 2 miles in behind the sand islands that form a barrier between the city and the sea. Though separated from the busy Algarve capital by only a few hundred metres, the barrier islands are very simple and relaxed, with fishing shacks and very basic holiday homes, hundreds of small boats, tiny family restaurants and lovely beaches. We anchored outside the fishing harbour off the island of Culatra and spent a couple of days dinghying around to explore the islands. Highlights included a bracing swim at the beach off Barretta Island, digging ourselves a meal of clams (cooked with white wine, stock and pasta) in the sand at low tide, and sharing a pleasant evening drinking and chatting with the crews of Moondance (Johnny and Sue, UK) and The Southern Cross (Catherine and Peter, Australia).

We also confirmed the good news that Marg and Mike Doust will be joining us in September for a North African adventure – can’t wait to welcome them aboard!

No building regulations on Culatra!

Terry, with Common Sense and Faro in the background.

Anchorage at dawn.

Snippets

This handsome fellow is a Portuguese Water Dog, a breed that used to assist the fishermen in setting and pulling in their nets. With the decline of the fishing industry they almost become extinct in Portugal, but were revived with breeding stock from the USA. Apparently they still thrive on a diet of sardines and red wine, just as they did in their days aboard the sardine fleet.

Sarah, Colin, Jack and Luke came aboard Common Sense for a visit this morning - hope you're enjoying your holiday!

Life after dark in the old town in Lagos.
Tomorrow is the big day - we've stocked up on provisions, remarked our anchor chain, cleaned up a bit of rust and replaced a few dodgy fittings. Next stop, the barrier islands off Faro, Portugal.

Trying out the new gear - Terry

We took Common Sense out today to test the new sails and electronics.  We hadn’t even left the slip when the first problem emerged – no Radar!  There’s supposed to be a tab on the Home screen on the whizz-bang “Multi-function Display” that says “Radar” but it wasn’t there.  So the radar’s not talking to the MFD. Malcolm from Bluewater Algarve is coming tomorrow to look at it, as it apparently was working fine last week so it’s probably a loose connection somewhere.

Well, it’s not crucial in the daytime so out we went anyway.  On board were Michael and Rhonda Cheston from Raven, an X-yacht 46 and Tim Szabow off Kinship, who came across the Atlantic with us. (another Maryland boat, like Common Sense). Michael is the sail guy who organized our new sails for us.

We got to the bridge, which we had asked to be opened and to my utter amazement, some goose in a 30-odd footer moved out from the welcome dock, about 100’ downstream from the bridge, and made to go through.  Bit hard when I’m already lined up to go through.  I’m sure he could see me but he just sat there like a roo in the headlights.  Because he was so close to the bridge, I had to get through, then as soon as my topsides were clear swing out to the right to miss him. 

Anyways, out we wandered in next to no air – maybe 6 to 8 knots.  We’d come to look at the sails so up they went and we were actually managing 3 knots in 8 knots of wind, way better than we would have done before.  The old sails would have seen us simply sitting still.

We bobbed around for a bit and then got some more wind and headed out a little.  Two party boats headed for us from the East.  The first, a cat, was way to seaward from us by several hundred meters.  The other was on a collision course.  We were under sail, they had their motor on so we were the stand-on vessel.  Problem was, there were 8 bikini-clad girls on the foredeck with 1 (yes, one) guy.  He was also on the foredeck and there was no one on the wheel.  One of the girls must have said something to him and he bolted for the cockpit and turned away with a big wave.  Obviously not concentrating on keeping an appropriate lookout.

No harm done but we weren’t getting anywhere fast so we turned in to the shore down near Alvor and put the sails away.  We motored in and had a very nice lunch at anchor on a sunny coolish day and just enjoyed ourselves.

A bit of wind came up, to about 14 knots, so we upped the anchor and headed off with all sails out.  They were fantastic – the boat is very well balanced with them and even steered itself (look ma, no hands!).  The motion was easy and it made way at about 5.7 knots in 15 knots of wind.

We tacked once to get some more sea room and closed on the Lagos breakwater. We then headed in up the Bensafrim River and put Common Sense away without banging anything on the way into the slip.  All in all, a nice day on the water. 

The Streets of Seville

Like Lisbon, Seville used to be a major seaport serving the nation’s expanding empire - in the case of Spain, that meant much of the Americas. You can see the wealth this created in the unbelievably lavish art and architecture in the churches and other surviving buildings of the ‘golden age’. The builder of Cathedral de Sevillla is purported to have said, “Let us build it so huge that those who complete it will swear that we were mad!” The Treasure Room of the Cathedral has to be seen to be believed: crowns, reliquaries, chalices, crucifixes and other artefacts in ornately wrought gold and silver, encrusted with precious stones – the materials plundered from the new world and mined by slave labour. An ugly story behind all the glitter and glory. Between gawping at all the paintings, sculptures, carvings, tapestries, jewellery and other stuff, I did pause to wonder what a simple Jewish carpenter's son would have made of it all.

The city went into decline after it was decimated by the Great Plague in 1649, the Guadalquivir River silted up and the Armada got their arses kicked by the English. Seville was the administrative centre for the Inquisition, so it’s fairly clear what God thought about that little enterprise. The layers of history, glorious and ghastly, do make every walk through the narrow streets an adventure in time travel. The old Santa Cruz district, for example, housed poets and revolutionaries and was the setting for much of Bizet's Carmen, however it was also the ancient Jewish quarter, the scene of terrible pogroms under the Inquisition.

 Interesting places to see: the Reales Alcazares, a Moorish palace and gardens begun in 1181, that took 500 years to complete. The Hospital de los Venerables Sacerdotes (Old Priests' Home) a beautiful building with a fabulous art collection, including works by Murillo and Velasquez. The Torre del Oro (Tower of Gold) another Moorish building that overlooks the river and houses an excellent maritime museum. The Placa d'Espana, built for the Expo in 1929, and the surrounding gardens... and so much more.

From a design perspective, you can’t help wishing that Australian cities and homes had had more Mediterranean influences. Lovely shady town squares with fountains, cafe seating and beautiful tiles. Balconies, street dining in tapas bars and roof gardens where people socialise in the cool of the evening. (Siesta is serious here – virtually nothing is open between 2 and 5.30 pm, but things really come to life at night). I especially like the homes in town: behind a massive studded wooden door, an entry opens into a welcoming courtyard with tiles, orange and olive trees, jasmine and other flowers and a pool or fountain. The style is called Mudejar, a mix of Renaissance Spain and north Africa.

And after a brief Spanish interlude, we're back in Lagos; the new AIS and radar have been installed, the sails arrive for fitting tomorrow and we've done a massive cleanup of all our tools, spare parts and equipment. Just a few more days and we should be on our way. Next stop, Faro, then Gibraltar and the Med at last!

Seville - First Impressions of Spain

Common Sense was looking like a building site with parts, tools and blokes taking up every space, both inside and on deck. What a great opportunity to escape for a few days and leave them to it! Having visited Vasco da Gama’s tomb in Lisbon, we thought a visit to another great legend from the social studies textbook, Christopher Columbus, was in order. Seville, where his remains lie in the great cathedral, is only a few hours away by bus.

Seville – oranges and operas were my only background knowledge apart from Columbus' tomb. The Barber of Seville, Carmen and Don Juan are all set there, so it’s clearly a romantic, larger-than-life kind of place. Then there are the oranges. This is a story that Martin told me about their introduction to Spain (ie not a particularly reliable source, but a good story.)

A young knight had to leave his beautiful lover in Seville when he went to the Holy Land to fight in the Crusades. When he returned, he said he had brought her a unique gift, something precious from the exotic shores of North Africa – and he handed her … an orange. Disgusted, she hurled it back at him and spurned him forever. The knight died of a broken heart and was buried with his rejected gift. From his grave, its seeds sprouted Spain’s first orange tree.

Apparently this is why Seville oranges taste bitter. They are certainly beautiful, however: avenues and groves of glossy dark green, cooling the glare of white stone and baking terracotta. It’s a lovely city, nestled around its massive cathedral whose tower, the Giraldo, was actually part of the site’s original mosque and is visible from almost everywhere. This location on the plain of the Guadalquivir River has been a human settlement for at least 3000 years; archaeological digs have revealed artefacts from Phoenician, Visigoth, Arab and Roman cultures, but the locals are sticking with the legend that the city was founded by Hercules, from whom all true Sevillanos are descended.

The first immediate difference from Portugal was the language. While the written languages are similar, they sound quite different – all the ‘sh’ sounds and its guttural quality make Portuguese sound almost eastern European. Also, virtually every Portuguese, in the Algarve and Lisbon at least, speaks English willingly and well. The Spanish in Seville broadcast their language loudly and flamboyantly. If you don’t understand, they speak it louder and with more extravagant gestures! It’s a good lesson for an English speaker to experience this linguistic chauvinism, as we do it to everyone else. Between my French and Terry’s Latin, we managed to make sense of most things eventually. We think.

The food is different. Portuguese food is good quality and fresh, but I could just about write the menu that virtually every restaurant offers. In Seville, tapas bars dominate, but there is a lot of innovation beyond the standard fare. In both countries, being a waiter is clearly a real profession, and a male-dominated one. Everything is done with expertise and flair – it’s part of the dining experience, and quite different from the earnest high school kids who wait tables for dismal wages in the US. Tapas are a great way to try small serves of interesting dishes – we enjoyed lamb casserole, prawn skewers, seared tuna, patatas bravas, sea urchin roe, chickpeas and spinach, peppers stuffed with codfish, mushrooms, mussels, olives … all sorts of goodies washed down with cold beer, vino rosaldo or sangria (Terry was the victim of a killer sangria made with wine, vodka, vermouth and gin!) We tried the house paella in a couple of restaurants as well – totally delicious, I could just about live on it. Terry will review some Seville drinking and eating in a future blog.


Well there is a lot more to tell, but I'll close for now. This blog is driving me crazy by refusing to upload photos so I'll post some on Facebook and save the rest for next time.