Restinga Smir

Well here we are in Restinga Smir, a beautiful, newish marina about 40 nautical miles from Tangier, around the north eastern  ‘corner’ formed by the Spanish enclave of Ceuta. The voyage here was pleasant, though light winds meant we needed to motor most of the way. The marina was built on a long stretch of rather lovely beach, and, like much of what we’ve seen in Portugal, Spain and Morocco, it’s way over-capitalised. The whole area has vast hotel/ apartment complexes, many unfinished and most empty. Everywhere there are the sad remnants of stores and businesses. A textbook illustration of the fallout from the GFC, variations on a theme we’ve seen everywhere from Vegas to Daytona, through the Bahamas to Europe and now north Africa.

The marina has berths for hundreds of boats, both in and out of the water, but it’s well below capacity. Nevertheless, all the service staff, restaurant staff, taxi drivers and others have been very friendly and helpful. Moroccan families on trips to the beach (who love to have their photos taken with a yacht in the background) have all made a point of letting us know we are very welcome in their country.

Almost from the minute we arrived, I succumbed to some hideous Tangier-belly virus, pretty much wiping out three days that I remember very little about. Nearly recovered now, in time to greet Marg and Mike Doust as they arrive (in about an hour!) for a stay aboard Common Sense and some adventures in and around Morocco. We plan to do a sail over to Gibraltar for a couple of days, a trip to Chefchaoun for the Saturday markets, a tour of the ancient city of Tetouan, dinghy rides to some good beaches, day sails and whatever else we can squeeze in.

Tangier

The Tangier in my imagination was a seedy-glamorous cosmopolitan city, inhabited by artists, writers, diplomats, exiles, international bankers and spies, hanging out in cafes and indulging in the forbidden pleasures of kif and handsome Moroccan boys. There are architectural and linguistic echoes still of the days when Tangier was governed by a European consortium. Matisse, Delacroix and Picasso painted here; Tennessee Williams wrote “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” on the beach; Barbara Hutton, the Woolworths heiress, and later Malcolm Forbes of Forbes Magazine hosted legendary parties (racing camels, a simulated cavalry charge by 300 Berber horsemen, 600 drummers, dancers and acrobats, you get the idea…); Paul Bowles, Truman Capote, Jack Kerouac, Alan Ginsberg, William Burroughs…  But after independence in 1956 there was a growing backlash against all the decadence: several high profile paedophile charges, the closure of the gay bars, restrictions on the sale of alcohol and a resurgence of traditional Islamic values so that by the end of the 70s the good times were all but over.

Now the recession – ‘La Crise’ – has hit hard, with few tourists, poor maintenance of historic landmarks and little progress on some major works like the new marina. There is optimism, however: the new king is popular and he seems to have a genuine focus on the future of Morocco and the prosperity of its people. A huge new container port at Tanger-Med is helping trade, and a big new fishing harbour is under construction. Apparently a lot of the hustlers and petty criminals have been cleared out in an effort to attract tourists back to Tangier. We certainly found all the stall holders and vendors in the markets friendly and helpful, not at all pushy or aggressive.  There is no shortage of self-styled ‘guides’, including small boys, but for a few dirham they helped us negotiate our way through the maze of narrow streets in the Medina and find the things we were looking for.

Terry was delighted to find the tomb of Ibn Batouta, the great 14^th century traveller who spent 25 years travelling the Muslim empire and beyond. The markets of the souk are astonishing, with gorgeous displays of fruit, vegetables, spices, flowers – even the fish and meat are artistically arrayed. Carpets, textiles, ceramics, ornate gold and silverware, leather – each piece seems more beautiful than the last. Just as well we’re boat people with simple needs and no space or I would have spent the entire cruising budget in a day. Many of the carpet stores are run by nomads from the western Sahara: they live in the desert all winter and come into town for the summer tourist season. You also see Berber people down from the farming areas in the mountains, wearing their elaborate straw hats and selling wonderful produce (fresh cheese, sold in plaited palm frond containers, is sensational!)

You could sit for hours in a café or tea house, just watching the multitudes pass by. Although most of the women wear traditional long tunics, trousers and headscarves, the colour and variety is extraordinary – so much for trying to suppress feminine self-expression. I did feel a bit sorry for the fundamentalist Shi-ite ladies in their black tents and fly-wire screens, however, looking like sad grubs amongst the butterflies.

On our second day in town we were drinking coffee in the Café de Madrid when Terry thought he heard a girl speaking with an Australian accent. Sure enough, a young woman was at the counter, trying to get directions, and yes, Erin came from Marmion in Perth – just a couple of miles from where we grew up. She had been working in London and was heading home ‘the long way’; had caught the ferry over from Tarifa in Spain for the day and was on a mission to buy food for her mates back at the hostel, everything there being closed for a religious festival. With our extensive background of one day in Morocco, we helped her find the markets and see a few of the attractions. We enjoyed her company and the chance to speak Australian again for a few hours!

And speaking of intrepid young people, a French couple and their three-year-old son rafted up next to us on their yacht. The child was born on board and has lived his whole life at sea! They are on their way to Senegal. They were joined later by a young English/Japanese traveller named George who, amongst other adventures, has ridden a bicycle clear across Africa. And there we were thinking we were pretty brave sailing across the Atlantic!

Although this is a wonderful city, our place in the harbour is dirty and uncomfortable – there are no facilities for yachts and we seem to be a bit of a nuisance to Harbour Control – so we’re about to head through the Straits to Restinga Smir, a marina on the Mediterranean coast of Morocco.

 

 

Barbate to Tangier

We enjoyed a fine sail across the Strait, after the unscheduled stop in Barbate waiting for the fierce, gritty east wind - the Levante – to ease. Terry and I agreed that we would never again complain about the gentle breezes wafting in from the south-west or the east in Western Australia. Visibility on the crossing was not great. Radar and AIS helped us to avoid cargo vessels, ferries and especially the many fishing boats along the route, but we couldn’t make out the coast of Africa until just a couple of miles out.

Entry into the harbour was a bit of an ordeal – no radio response from the small marina or port authorities until we had done a couple of laps, when the harbour master called and advised that the only space available was a raft-up next to a German catamaran, behind a huge car ferry up against the harbour wall. After a decidedly hostile response from the German skipper, we moved along and rafted beside a UK registered vessel, Paw Paw of London. This turned out to be a much better option; we had a drink with the friendly and well-travelled crew, and the skipper, Michael Briant (writer, actor and director), was a wealth of helpful information. He reiterated what we’ve heard from almost everyone about avoiding the Red Sea, but his advice was based on personal experience of being boarded and robbed by 18 Somali pirates with AK47s!

Harbour officials and police were friendly and efficient, and there was no hint of baksheesh being required (though we may have missed some of the subtleties). We did discover that there were quite substantial charges for staying in the harbour, despite a total lack of berths or services – yachts are clearly a bit of a nuisance in a busy fishing/ ferry port that has no proper marina or anchorage. So, we won’t be here for long. After a day or two to see the sights, we’ll head east to Ceuta and then to Marina Smir.

Cadiz to ... Barbate?

[Terry wrote this blog entry because I just don't want to talk about it.]

We left Cadiz at 3:30am this morning for a 56-mile trip to Tangier.  Started badly when we almost got run down by a Spanish Armada Patrol Boat - he kept coming towards me on my starboard bow and all the time I expected him to turn to his port and head down the main channel into Cadiz.  I couldn't turn there because I assumed he would and I'd be right in his path.  He put his searchlight on us and kept a’coming - I did an emergency stop and he just carried on over my bows into what is definitely not safe ground - there's patches of reef in there that I'd certainly hit if I went in.  Must be some sort of "see who's brave enough to do this at 20 knots" game they play.

Anyway, out we went in 18 knots of breeze and Common Sense was humming along at 6-7.  However, the wind got up and up and up and by 10am we were in a gale with 40+ knots over the deck, a couple of peaks at 50+ and no sail out.  I couldn't control the boat and we were getting blown left and right depending on what wave we just fell off.  We'd already made 28 miles towards Tangier and I was reluctant to give it up but turned back anyway.  Then I decided to make for Barbate about 16 miles away and only 26 miles from Tangier.  It was sideways and a bit east so it took 4 1/2 hours to get there, amid much banging, crashing, spray flying and water over the deck.  We went past Trafalgar in a gale, sparing a thought for Admiral Horatio, the Lord Nelson, and thanking him for the fact that I don’t speak French!  Even in the harbour we couldn't dock on the waiting pontoon as there was a huge squall while we were trying with 48 knots coming through and the stern refusing to go in.  We motored around to our slip and that was a much better proposition and we simply eased in there. So much for yesterday's 18 knots of wind weather forecast.  There are two other yachts in here with the same story – got half way and got hammered back into submission like us.

 

The marina looks very much like the Cadiz one in fitout and it is also a victim of the financial times.  Half full and facilities empty.  We are 2kms out of town but on our u-beaut Montague Town bikes we make short work of that.  We went in to find an internet café with wiffy available to see why my Visa card wouldn't work in the marina machine.  Worked fine last night in the Cadiz marina machine?

We had a beer or two in the Galeria café and then wandered up the promenade a bit for dinner.  Settled on a fish café and had a local Barbate version of Paella - with tuna and capsicum strips.  Very nice.  Then we rode home in the dark to the marina.  You wouldn't credit it being the same ocean - moonlight dancing off the gentle waves, soft breeze off the land.  No sign of today's storms.

 

This town is loaded with tourists, mostly British, and also many Spanish.  You can tell the Brits - wind is howling off the ocean, the sand is leaving Spain and heading for the USA and here's a 70-y.o. walking onto the beach with a deck chair!  Straight up, wind or no wind, he was here to sit on the beach and that's that.

It's a bit grittier than Cadiz and certainly not the suave sophistication of Seville.  It's a fishing port with a big tuna industry and some hefty boats here.  Superb promenade that goes for miles, with kids, grandy's, parents, kids on bikes and roller skates, teens in love and teens out looking for love.  There must have been thousands out all along the way.

Once again, what a surprise.  And you can see the coast of Africa off in the distance.

 

 

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.