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Monthly Archives: August 2003
Being John Malkovich In Lisbon
Lisbon is as cosmopolitan as Porto is traditional. This is apparent as soon as you hit the streets, which are bustling with travellers, hippies, performers, artists, musicians, Bohemians, and gays. Yes, it seems Lisbon is home to the hom. A wrong look in the direction of one of the many pretty boys here and you could find yourself in a tight spot. Literally.
I’m Jumping Ship!
Shock! Horror! Following Lorraine’s confirmation that she is jumping ship I have decided to follow suit. Prompted by an incident yesterday I have decided to do myself a favour and take a break, heading inland towards the capital, Lisbon.
Does The Gimp Jump Ship?
If Lorraine does jump ship where will this leave me on the boat? I’m growing increasingly concerned that I am becoming the ship’s gimp. Despite undertaking a number of chores on the boat without being asked, from being the first person (only person) to clean the heads, or scrub down the shelves, it seems I can never do enough.
Sleep Deprivation
More rubbish weather so today I just wandered up to the sea break and tried to take some photos of the rather large waves crashing over the harbour wall. I got soaked and got no decent pictures.
Muchos Port In Porto
Porto blew me away. It is one of the most beautiful cities I have ever visited, from it’s opulent architecture to the river side promenades. The city of 263,000 people is stacked up either side of the Rio Douro, with the huge Ponte de Dom Louis 1 joining the main city centre with the port distillery lodges on the south side. This is echoed by another five huge bridges that continue to straddle the river in land.
Snoring In Póvoa de Varzim
I can’t remember the last time I had a decent night’s sleep. It doesn’t help that I have the smallest bunk on the boat either! I could be philosophical about it but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna continue to live like this for the next few months. Am I showing the first signs of cracking? After only four weeks? Surely not…….
Crossing The Border To Portugal
After my watch and a snooze I’m woken to the sight of our first Portuguese destination, Viana do Castelo, which looks dreary and drab. How wrong I was! This town was just completing the four day fiesta Romaria de Nossa Senhora d’Agonia, or Our Lady of Sorrows. If you didn’t know the festival was called this you could have guessed by the local folk music that was playing from every bandstand and stage. Whilst the instrumental music is great it’s unfortunately accompanied by banshee wailing. This is normal, so I’m told, but it sounds rubbish.
Those Spanish Senoritas Again!
Heh heh. All this talk of Spanish women but I don’t think I’m in with much of a chance. We have now been at sea for 4 weeks and I’m still on my first bar of soap. This is good since I have two spare, meaning I can continue my rigorous weekly shower routine for the foreseeable future, after which I’ll have to wash myself in coconut oil and banana juice.
Islas Cies – A Secret Paradise
As you should be able to see from the photos Islas Cies is idyllic. Despite the fact that ferry services cart many hundreds of Spanish every day to and from the mainland, it still retains its desert island feel. There are very few buildings on the island save a tourist centre, a restaurant, a shop and a lighthouse.
Diving Off The Bow
Putting the world to rights
In the evening neither Conny nor myself went ashore (so no postcard). Instead we sat on the deck drinking 50 cent wine (we’ve fully taken advantage of the ridiculously cheap wine in Spain) and put the world to rights. He believes the human race will eventually become borgs.
Meeting St James In Santiago
I was surprised that the majority of tourists in Santiago were Spanish. Santiago is one of Europe’s primary religious destinations, second only to The Vatican, yet we overheard no other language other than Spanish, save for an American couple arguing over whether they should go shopping or have a cup of coffee. That said, the streets are packed.
More Fireworks & Parades In Caraminal
One thing that did occur to me was the level of involvement of the locals in these festivities. In the UK I think one would struggle to prize the youth from their car jacking and get them to dress up in frilly costumes and dance to bagpipe music, but here in the Galician area of Spain it seems the regional identity is embraced with a huge level of pride.
Fireworks & Dancing In Caraminal
As the dinghy heads towards the slipway I notice the sea front is teeming with people, and the slipway is covered by more crowds. A quick scan on the bins confirms that there is a military brass band accompanying a crew of religious types who are carrying some religious thing down to the waters edge.
Kill That Motor!
Am convinced I have developed scurvy of the feet. Every few days I treat myself to a good old strip down wash (yeah, I know, call me obsessive about personal hygiene – you should smell the others), yet despite smashing my toes on deck from five times a day to two my poor feet get very little attention.