The Voyages of Lyra

Alone Again

Posted on July 14, 2013 by yachtlyra

The girls and Johnsey left for home yesterday. John and I were sad to have them leave. The holiday with them was everything we had hoped for, except that it whizzed by too quickly. We are missing them. More subtly, we also miss the anticipation of their coming, which has coloured our experiences so far. The constant references to what they would like and what we could all do together. We took a taxi to the station with them to see them off. It is a taxi ride to most places from here, we are at the Marina Davila Sport in Vigo and although it is a lovely marina it is situated in an industrial wasteland.

To catch up from where I left off four days ago, our journey here was dogged by persistent fog, which rolled into Portonova on Tuesday night. When we woke it was hard to see the harbour entrance and shreds of mist clung to the town for most of the day. It seemed foolhardy to persist with our planned sail to Baionna, so we decide to stay another night and move on straight to Vigo. John and I had a walk round with Emma and Johnsey. On our way past the beach we overtook Ronaldo and Messi, both sporting full kit, including wool socks despite the heat. Ronaldo was the more senior of the two and may have had first choice on the strip. Johnsey reminisced about how he had lived in his Wednesday strip at the same age. We climbed the hill and enjoyed a coffee in a pleasant little square at the top, which would normally have had lovely sea views. We walked back into town, scanning the menu’s trying to decide where to eat that night. A market had opened up its stalls along the main street, so we browsed. Oddly, the beach was clear of fog and busy with holidaymakers. After lunch the young set off for it, but John and I relaxed on the boat. John checked the weather forecast, which was for more of the same for the next few days. Consequently our plan was to set off for Vigo in the middle of Thursday, which had been relatively clear, the early mist having burned off and the evening fog yet to roll in.

We stuck to the plan. At first the fog seemed to close in around us and John contemplated turning back. Then it cleared sufficiently for us to make steady progress under engine, with the kids taking turns to keep watch at the front in pairs. We were glad of their excellent hearing, up away from the noise of our own engine, as well as their eyesight and were able to put ghostly shapes to the various radar blips and avoid the lobster pots. As our journey progressed we could see more and more and our arrival at Vigo posed no problems. The marinera on duty at Davilla Sport came out to us on a rib, gave clear instructions in excellent English and helped us tie up at the longest, highest pontoon yet. A mere step off the side of the boat to the pontoon no need for dramatic jumps down onto a wobbly surface clutching a rope. We went up to the marina restaurant for a drink and felt distinctly scruffy amongst the smart shirt and ties having their business lunches. It is very up market, thronged with people from outside, so essential to book, we booked for Friday night, to celebrate Emma’s birthday together early.

After lunch on the boat the kids set off to explore Bouzas and had a mini adventure. The pilot book had suggested the marina was a twenty minute walk from Vigo, but the staff in the office looked horrified by this and explained Vigo was an hour’s walk, but Bouzas was indeed twenty minutes away. So Johnsey and the girls set off to explore. After walking for about ten minutes, through the docks and industrial buildings with no end in sight, they spotted a taxi and hailed it. “Bouzas” they said. The taxi driver was non-plused. After further “Bouzas”, emphasis on the u and some arm waving, she caught on “Bouzas!” smiles all round. She set off at light speed. Past Bouzas. Past the docks at Vigo, under a couple of tunnels. The drive was taking twenty minutes. Eventually she arrived triumphantly at the bus station. They thanked her, climbed out and had a coffee, so she could pick up another fare, took a photo crammed into a booth to commemorate the event and caught a taxi back. We saw them pull up on our own wander round, still laughing about it all.

Next day we caught two taxis into Vigo, which is huge and has impressively long streets. We explored the old town and had coffee in a square and then came into the main shopping area. By this time everywhere was closed for lunch. Undeterred we climbed up flights of stone steps, following Google maps till we managed to locate a vegetarian restaurant, Katie had researched. It proved excellent. For once Katie and Lara had the choice of the whole menu. The food was delicious and a welcome change from the usual suspects. The atmosphere was lovely and the place very busy. John and I plan to go back. In one corner was a deli and we stocked up on the good bread, we had sampled, and on peanut butter. After that we completed the climb to the park at the top of the hill, which was further than it looked. We sat below a derelict castle and watched a vivid green frog in a pool, before descending back into the centre of Vigo, where the girls enjoyed the shops and John found an Orange store and sorted out our internet.

That was all Friday, Saturday was mainly about them going, though John did take me to a chandlers to cheer me up. Nothing like the smell of neoprene to revive flagging spirits. Today we sort out chores, washing clothes and the boat and, most successfully, mended the hinges on our hatch. The mist still keeps wafting in from the water, which is both melancholic and a bit of a threat. Apparently the Portuguese coast is renown for it. Now he tells me.

Posted in Sailing, sight seeing | Tagged Bouzas, Vigo | 2 Comments

Breakfast with Dolphins

Posted on July 9, 2013 by yachtlyra

Yesterday morning, as we were gathered in the cockpit for breakfast, John spotted the dolphins again! One actually came into the harbour here to flush out the fish sheltering amongst the pontoons. This time they went about their feeding undisturbed and when they had finished we settled down to our toast.

The previous evening we had discovered the old town of Cambarro, which is magical. We had headed off into the big concrete open area at the end of the harbour to go to a rather attractive looking restaurant by the sea. John suggested we explore up the wooden steps at the side of the restaurant first. Up we went and found ourselves walking along a narrow passage, with shops on one side and tables set out in alcoves overlooking the sea on the other. The shops were awash with tacky souvenirs and witch dolls of assorted sizes. Also facing the sea each building had one of the stone crypts on stilts John and I had first seen in San Vicente. I speculated they might have been for storing grain, as the stilts had dome shaped tops like the stone mushrooms used for keeping vermin out of haystacks back home. Lara found a plaque, explaining they were designed to store potatoes, corn and even hams and are called horreos. We wandered along the winding passage with people chatting or sat on stools drinking on either side. Vendors called to us in Spanish, extolling the virtues of their shops. Lines of even smaller streets led off up the hill to our left, lined with doorways displaying washing and bright plants in pots. The warren opened out to an area of tables set out under large umbrellas, where people were eating. The restaurants were somewhere up the back alleys, but each had a large rusting hulk of a barbecue on which sardines sizzled. We hesitated for a moment and they rustled up an English speaker, who disappeared off for a word with the chef and came back with an offer of vegetarian pasta, so we were in. To start we carnivores shared sardines and ham and there was tortilla, bread and cheeses for the veggie’s. Then John and I shared the house paella, Emma and Katie had salad, Lara the pasta and Johnsey ordered steak, which turned out to be pork and worryingly rare. He was loathe to leave food and fortunately has a strong constitution and suffered no ill effects.

We made a circuit of the old town again in daylight. Outside one bar octopus were boiling in a large zinc tub, pink suckered tentacles undulating in the rolling steam. Out in the estuary nigh on a hundred people stood in the sea, heads bent combing for shellfish.

We threaded our way down onto the shore, where a woman was stooped washing her catch in a stream. All the way down quaintly shaped buildings with immaculate pantiles and potted plants sat cheek by jowl, with enticing derelicts. We then climbed back up the hill and emerged onto the main road, which quickly led back down to the port. It was hot and we headed off to the restaurant we had originally planned to eat at last night for coffees and cold drinks. The cold drinks came with Russian salad and the coffees with cake. We swapped and traded.

Then we trouped off to the taxi rank for our planned visit to Pontevedra. Our neighbour, an Irish man who had set off with his wife to sail, loved the Rias and stayed, passed us as we stood there and advised we go back and ask the marinera to call us a taxi. This turned out to be excellent advise, the “Captain” was extremely helpful and sorted out in Spanish to have us dropped in the old town in two taxis. The cars were air conditioned, so it was something of a culture shock to emerge into the heat of a town. We headed off into the old streets following purple signs for the Site of Apparitions, we made an interesting circuit, but it failed to appear. We trolled up and down the streets, which all seemed to lead back to the same street cafe. With its red chairs and parasols it would have been irresistible, but for the vicious mix of slopes on which the tables and chairs were all teetering, as each street approached at a different angle. We carried on and found a place where the tables were set up a single street in the shade of the restaurant. The waiter brought Emma and Johnsey a menu in Spanish on the strength of their Cornish tans, the rest of us were given an English translation, which we all then shared. Amazingly for a place that specialised in ham, great cured joints of which hung en mass behind the bar, amongst chains of garlic, they offered mushroom stuffed peppers, a new veggie option. Sadly the cathedral was closed for mass, we could hear the lovely singing within. We had forgotten also that museums were closed on Monday, so decide to head back, having probably not done justice to the place.

Pantiles on the way to the Sanctuary of Apparitions

That evening we finally ate at the restaurant by the new square and had a lovely evening. It was clearly family run, father and son taking turns to serve us. The fish was superb, the steak was beef and they made a wonderful veggie version of their house salad specially. At the end of the meal they brought out complimentary liqueurs, in chilled glasses, the senoritas being offered the cream version. The ladies in San Vicente could have told them I was up to the hard stuff. We wandered back to Lyra happily and all slept well in spite of the heat.

Next morning Johnsey woke first and sat sketching on deck, so as not to wake anyone. There was a splash and a dolphin surfaced next to the boat at the side of him. He shook Emma awake, she knocked on the deck and we were all up, well all except Lara. There were lots of them, circling out in the bay, with one flushing fish out of the harbour. Shoals of fish gathered alongside us, but the dolphin came no closer. Still, we could hardly complain. After another spectacular dolphin watch, John, Emma and Johns headed off to the market in the square and bought us figs and cherries and chocolate, nut scattered bread for breakfast. Afterwards we all went back to the market to look at the straw hats, but there was nothing the equal of Monty Don’s. On the way back we watched aline of small dinghies being towed out for a class, like ducks in a row.

John called in to pay and we were given a ten precent discount because they had noticed our Cruising Association pennant. We would not have thought to mention it, but they had noticed and acted accordingly, so typical of the kindness and generosity we have experienced.

We set off and had a great sail down to Portenova, beating down the ria against a force three wind. It was so good, we took another reach across and back before coming in to moor across the hammerhead. We had a late lunch, a siesta, while Emma and Johnsey went for a walk and then all went to the beach for a swim. The beach is a marvellous long sweep of fine white sand. This evening the shore was a shanty town of bright parasols around which a bronzed hoard of all ages basked and played. Not many braved the water, but we are hardy creatures now and had a lovely swim. This evening Emma and Johnsey are cooking a veggie feast, the music below deck is loud and everyone is dancing.

Posted in Sailing, sight seeing | Tagged Cambarro, Dolphins, Pontevedra | 2 Comments

Encore San Vincente

Posted on July 7, 2013 by yachtlyra

We arrived back at San Vicente at tea time and it looked much as we had left it.

Beautiful. We tied up and John went off to sort out the paperwork, while the crew convened in front of the Club Nautica bar for liquid refreshment, Large beers all round. We decided this was far enough to walk for one night and had dinner there in the restaurant. The same lady served us as on our previous visits, nodding solemnly at our attempts at Spanish and doing her best to interpret it. Now she was wearing a summer dress. The same chef clattered away in the kitchen. The food was even better than we had remembered.

The following morning we all set off intending to reprise the coastal walk, with the inclusion of sketching and a swim. We set off along the walkway, pointing out the strange rock formations and bizarre statues to the kids. The gorse and heather were still blooming, but many of the wildflowers had already given their all, though new ones were green with bud.

We arrived at the last beach along the walkway, the point at which it gave way to footpath, and called a halt for the swim. Other more seasoned beach goers were equipped with wind breaks and parasols to provide essential shade.

Johnsey and John knocked us up a Heath Robinson arrangement with driftwood and old planks, from which we suspended my sarong and our largest beach towel. Then we all set off to cool down in the sea. The sea was so cold it burned. We edged our way inch by inch into the numbing water, each step forward introduced a fresh tract of hot flesh to tingle and die. One by one we took the plunge; gasped, spluttered, then made grandiose statements of encouragement, as to how nice it was, to those remaining. We all managed to swim before anyone became hypothermic. Some swims were shorter than others. Invigorated we padded up the beach to bask dry and then took turns in the shade, watching the antics of the many dogs and their owners, particularly a poodle, which kept falling over, trying to walk on it’s two front feet, because the back pads were hot and clogged by the gritty sand. We are drawn to poodles having owned one and this one was rather like her.

There was no question of continuing the walk in the heat, so we headed back and stopped off at a beach bar, that had not been open on our previous visit.

That night we ate at El Pirate. They had lifted the big stuffed octopus off the grass and plonked it up on a roof with its bandana was tied under it’s chin like the queen. The food was excellent. Johnsey was served a small barbecue complete with coals on which a variety of meats were sizzling. The pasta primavera was excellent, which was just as well as it was the only veggie main course. There is not a lot of variety for vegetarians here, the waiters look sympathetic and puzzled as though it is an affliction, rather than a choice.

This morning we went a walk the other way around the long arcs of beach, which became increasingly crowded, so we turned back and swam from the beach nearest the marina. The sea seemed less of a challenge, but not much less. John and Johnsey elected to just paddle. A lady with three pugs in tow came down to the sea and carried each in in turn for a bath, to which they seemed resigned rather than enthusiastic. When all had been scrubbed she carried one under each arm to keep them out of the sand, leaving the largest to waddle along behind. By the time we had walked back to Lyra we were dry and after a bit of knitting with the lines we set off for Cambarro at the top of the next ria.

The wind was none existent, so we motored following the waypoints dot to dot through the heat. The banks we passed were peppered by clusters of orange pantile roofs, this seemed a more populous ria. There were a disappointing number of cranes and chimneys facing us at the head. Ten minutes away we set out lines and fenders. Emma, Katie and I sat on the for-deck chatting, Katie bemoaned our lack of dolphin sightings. As we rounded the small island of Isla Ons two large, grey dolphins surfaced right beside us. They turned and passed in front of our bows, followed alongside and crossed us again.

Stop press! I have been interrupted by another dolphin sighting, just outside the harbour here. The dolphins were fishing, we could dee the dark backs arching through the surface and sometimes jumping, with silver showers of escaping fish flying through the air ahead of them. For ages they kept circling a quite small area some distance away. A lucky yacht lingered close by. Then they came towards us herding the fish up against the pontoons. We had front row standing room only views of them dipping and diving. Yes, I did take photographs.

The situation then became a bit daft as all sorts of small motor boats muscled in weaving to and fro trying for even closer sighting and the dolphins slowly retreated.

After this our Irish neighbours cooly informed us that Andy Murray had won Wimbledon. They have a permanent berth here and seemed only moderately interested in the dolphins, so maybe they are a common sight and we will spot them again when we leave. Fingers crossed!

Posted in Beaches, Sailing, sight seeing | Tagged Dolphins, San Vicente, swimming | 2 Comments

To Home and Back

Posted on July 6, 2013 by yachtlyra

We left Lyra in Vilagarcia and flew home for a friend’s wedding. It felt very strange to abandon her. We went back via Sandiago de Compostella, by train, walking up to the station at Vilagarcia and negotiating the precarious looking temporary bridge there. We stayed overnight at the hotel Bonaval and ate at a fabulous restaurant they recommended called Amoa. The hotel was lovely and located a short, pleasant walk from the cathedral. We decided to go back there with the family when they return with us for a sailing holiday and made reservations accordingly. Sandiago was much quieter and also dryer, so we explored the old town round the cathedral a bit further.

In the airport on the way home it was disconcerting to understand what people round about were saying. I unwillingly hooked on to the English being spoken around us, unable to distance myself from the conversations of others. It felt as though we had been in Spain much longer and we were excited to reach home. When we did Katie had the house looking immaculate and the weather at home was glorious. We sat out enjoying the garden. Just as well as the next day it rained. Galicilan weather!

The next two weeks whizzed by. The wedding was a really happy occasion, the sun shone and all my family were there.

The girls and Johnsey then flew back with us to a Spain transformed. It is hot. Very hot. The change is akin to when it snows at home, nothing looks the same. In this case all the cafe’s move out into the street, which are festooned with umbrellas and awnings, for people are hugging the shade, not seeking for the sun. The hotel was every bit as friendly as we remembered and air conditioned. We were given a beautiful room on the top floor with a stone fireplace and a deep granite windowsill. Katie and Lara were in a twin next door and Emma and Johns had “our” old room along the corridor in the eaves. The restaurant also lived up to expectations, with the added bonus that the garden was open to sit in for drinks.

The cathedral looked glorious against a clear blue sky, its lines sharply etched in the powerful light. Pilgrims clustered in its shadow in the square. We looked down on them from the museum terrace.

This time round the museum Katie had an audio guide, so we understood more of what we were seeing. The location of the cathedral is based on the experience of a hermit with what sounded like a bad migraine. Sadly, a carved frieze which I had taken to be a celebration of diversity in the animal kingdom turned out to be a warning against sin, sins being depicted as animals. Even with the guide we needed Google to tease out the convoluted details of the life of St James, which Katie then illustrated. http://www.katieharnett.com

After the bits with Jesus that I am familiar with, he apparently witnessed to the Spanish people, went back home to be beheaded by Herod, was brought back to Spain, head and all to be discovered by the hermit, then came back as an able cavalry man to slaughter the infidel in the shape of the Moors. There is some connection with a pumpkin, which we have yet to discover. I’m not sure why all the scallop shells either, but have taken them as a nod to his fisher of men past. Anyway my favourite painting of the Last Supper was better than I remembered, but there was no reference to it in the guide.

After our overnight in Sandiago we retraced our steps to Vilagarcia, to find Lyra all tucked up as we had left her. Some building work had started at the marina entrance, creating dust and noise, so we decided to move on and spend longer at San Vicente, with the lovely coastline and the sandy beaches. So far the kids seem to be enjoying green Spain as much as we have.

The only fly in the ointment is that the credit has not come through automatically for our internet. We can see it on the Orange website screen poised, but have not worked out how to access it. Moreover neither has anyone at the phone shops at Vilagarcia, though they tried very hard. So we are back on the slow drip.

Posted in sight seeing | Tagged Hotel Bonaval, internet, Katie Illustrations, Santiago de Compostela, St James | 1 Comment

Vilanova to Vilagarcia

Posted on June 23, 2013 by yachtlyra

It is raining, the sound is pattering on the roof, bringing back memories of many a caravan holiday. Yesterday was entirely different, with blazing sunshine. We took advantage of the weather by doing our washing. John filled up the two big, yellow Gorilla tubs with cold water from the hose and rubbed and splashes happily away, until he had made a decent job of washing the clothes he actually had on, let alone those in the wash. I tried to keep a prudent distance from the maelstrom as I helped rinse and peg out. Finally Lyra was festooned with an assortment of our clothes and bedding and had an immaculate side deck.

Today is Father’s Day and we have spoken to our girls and feel a bit wistful. We are looking forward to seeing them all again and will be bringing them out here soon for a holiday. Earlier we managed a walk round before the rain started. This is a large town, easily the biggest place we have been since La Coruna. The bread shops were open and we bought a long baton and were given a small round cob, people here are so generous. Most other shops are closed for Sunday, but there was a hum of activity. Lots of families were sat outside cafes, where tables spill over the streets, which are closed to cars. Adults chatted as children played around the tables, chasing to and fro in small gangs. We sat amongst it all and ordered coffee, our view took in the side of a building opposite, on which the imprint of a house, is etched in vivid, and oddly flocked orange. Then we headed off to what we had thought was a footpath, but found was actually Os Castros, the earthworks of a hill fort, possibly Iron Age. The ramparts were impressively steep and we wandered around the pathways and finally down a formidable wooden stairway to a narrow garden with a winding rill and tall metal windmill. With the weather beginning to look ominous, we walked back along the main road and knew when we were within eating distance by the paper trail of fast food bags we began to encounter. It had been one of the first sights to greet us when we arrived in Vilagarcia, a tall pole crowned by the arched M, announcing the presence Ronald MacDonald in the suitably patriotic colours of the Spanish flag.

The passage from Vilanova to here was so short as to be of little note. We just motored on round, skirting the mussel rafts, at which a couple of boats with small cranes were busy. As we were peering forward looking for the entrance to the marina here, we spotted a fast moving dinghy, being harassed by a rib.

Closer inspection revealed the rib to contain a photographer, intent on catching some exciting images of the couple sailing the very sporting dinghy.

John speculated the sailors might be part of the Spanish national team, so we took our own snaps. Maybe Annie’s Rich, our host in Plymouth, would know of them. They certainly knew what they were doing, snaking around at a vicious speed, tantalizing the chasing rib. After we had tied up, we saw then glide back in to the harbour next to the marina, job done.

The marina here is a large one, though permanent boats take up most of the berths and we were given a temporary overnight mooring, before being able to move to a more secure spot on Saturday. There is a large marina office and restaurant complex in a wooden building on stilts, with verandas and lovely big round windows.

On our arrival we went for tapas in the marina bar, where they serve an amazing gin and tonic. Tonight we are heading over for a Father’s Day dinner in the restaurant and I hope we do not arrive looking like a couple of drowned rats, because as I said it is a large marina and we have a lot of pontoon to traverse.

Posted in Chores, sight seeing | Tagged dinghy sailing, gin and tonic, rain, Villagarcia | Leave a comment

The Curious Incident of a Dog in the Nighttime

Posted on June 20, 2013 by yachtlyra

Wednesday June 12th was forecast to be a much better day than its predecessors, with the wind due to drop and the sun come out as the day went on. We felt ready to move on, although San Vicente is an idyllic spot it was becoming unsustainable as, after the weekend, the bars and shops stayed locked fast behind their shutters, with the notable exception of the bread shop, for which we were most thankful. It was a short passage, so we waited awhile for the promised better weather, paid our dues and manoeuvred very smartly out of the marina. Once out of the shelter there was still quite a breeze and the sea was rather lumpy, so putting the sails up felt a bit uncomfortable. Once they were up and reefed though, we beat along at quite a lick, cutting through the chop. The turn to round the headland brought a more comfortable point of sail and we chose to travel beyond our waypoint, before gybing to enter the Ria at a good angle. Gybing is so much easier with the automatic winches. Ria Arousa is the largest of the Spanish Rias and has a number of islands and rocky outcrops, adding to the beauty of the surroundings and the shelter afforded from both the wind and the swell. There is an increase in the complexity of the sailing as a result of these obstacles, but we managed to cover most of the length with just a couple more gybes.

At a narrow part we met another sailing yacht and low and behold she was another Najad! We waved to each other as we passed by and I took photographs, to have an idea of how we look under sail. As we neared Vilanova, our destination, we could see the long rafts of the mussel farms and turned to wind to take the sails in before we entered the passage between them. We motored down the checkerboard of rafts looking left for the spur into the marina. Having reached it, there was an obvious wider channel, though we still needed the red and green posts to identify the marina entrance, as the stone of the harbour walls blended together.

Once inside we were met be a very cheerful marinera, who directed us to one of the longer finger pontoons near the entrance, and made short work of tying us up. The pontoon here is not such a long step down either. We headed up to the cabin with our boat papers and were told we needed no keys for showers etc, there would always be a marinera to let us in. This seemed most trusting at the time, as there was no lock on the outside gate and it is a busy yard with lots of equipment around. From what we could see they do a very good job. After all our self catering of late we had decided to treat ourselves to lunch. No such luck. We tried the bar at the marina and had two excellent large chilled beers, but no food, not even tapas. Undeterred we headed off into town and made for the church. It was all very quiet. We found another bar, had two more, smaller beers, but still no tapas. By this time it was rather late for lunch even in Spain and beer with no food had rather gone to my head, so John guided me back to the boat for bread, cheese and pate.

Consequently we were late setting out for our evening meal. We still felt the urge to treat ourselves, particularly we had now gone through all our perishables and the store cupboard had rather lost its charm. A further ramble round the streets of Vilanova yielded some pretty garden areas, some very odd statues and a quartet of Galician pipers wailing away on a street corner. We found a few more bars, at this time serving tapas, but not in great variety. Eventually we settled for a mix of the usual suspects – calamari, tortilla and jamon, and they were good. The bar was noisy though, with the television, showing previously broadcast football, so we decided against coffee and headed back. By that time it was dark. We opened the marina gate and a loud alarm sounded. We closed the gate behind us and it stopped. Out of the dark came a German Shepherd dog, huge, with fur like a mane. His handler was behind him, calling out in Spanish. The dog seemed to pay no heed, but perhaps he was being told to play nicely, because he seemed more than happy to be petted by John. Then he bounded up to me and I stood still and let him sniff my scent and spoke in friendly tones. Up he stood on his hind legs, with his paws on my shoulders, looking down at me with his head on one side, panting. I said “No”, rather sternly, and his handler arrived and he jumped down to be collared and held, the man walking bent over to let us through the gate to the pontoon, apologising for the enthusiastic welcome. Later we heard a deep resounding bark and knew were being watched over as we slept. Next day our guardian was fast asleep at the far end of the boat yard, but he gave the same resonant bark when we rang the bell to be let in and watched us disappear down the gangplank, before flopping back to sleep.

We had been out negotiating the supermarket. The staff there were really helpful, we had our loose vegetables weighed and bought fish and chicken and had the first cleaned and the second sliced into escallops. I managed these wonders by just saying yes to whatever was offered me. The sun was shining and the bells were chiming, not the church we had found, but a set of bells clearly rung by an enthusiast. On the half hour were a few bars of All Things Bright and Beautiful and at noon a burst of Oranges and Lemons was followed by a complete verse and chorus of Ave Maria. Surprisingly familiar and charming in the sultry air. Back on board we stowed our supplies and pulled our spare ropes out from the locker to air in the sunshine. We headed off to the marina bar where we could keep an eye on them as they got on with it. This time the beers came with warm spaghetti tapas and the coffee with squares of cake. Lunch!

During the afternoon we decided to walk across the pilgrim bridge along the coast and Vilanova showed us her more enchanting face. The path wound between sandy beaches and the immaculately lawned long gardens of a variety of houses, interspersed by vacant lots of even greater beauty, where the wildflowers rampaged at will. We passed a restaurant with a pretty garden and a campsite. As we rounded a corner we saw the long road bridge, stretching across to an island and the town of Arousa. There was a restaurant with outside tables, shaded by palm trees and rose arches. We sat with a view over the sands and drank chilled wine. A long way off in the estuary, John spotted a dolphin, then another and as he pointed I could see them, lots of them. Even at such a distance we could see the water heaving as they rounded up fish, weaving and jumping in an ever decreasing circle. Not good news for the fish, but exciting to think that such a large pod is to be found so far into the Ria. Worth keeping our eyes peeled as we sail around. We retraced our steps back along the quiet beaches.

That evening John cooked the fish, which was really fresh and delicious, we played our music and stayed on board, so there were no more close encounters of the canine kind.

Posted in Sailing, sight seeing, Walking | Tagged beaches, dog, Dolphins, statues | Leave a comment

Wildflower Collage

Posted on June 13, 2013 by yachtlyra

Galicia is referred to as green Spain on account of its higher rainfall lending the countryside a more verdant appearance. Certainly in spring this term does not do justice to the banquet of wildflowers on show. Here are views from our walk along then coast above Finisterre.

Posted in sight seeing, Walking | 1 Comment

Guns and Roses

Posted on June 11, 2013 by yachtlyra

Yesterday we went for a long walk around the coast towards Ria Arousa. The headland, Con Negra, is a nature reserve and a site of outstanding natural beauty. We set off from the pretty seaside environment of the harbour, along the impressive wooden walkway, which winds smoothly round the coast. It has silvered planks chamfered to turn the corners and shaped around the many protruding boulders. Along higher sections there is a handrail and at one point it even threads up into town and along a street over the pavement. We came across several dog walkers and what seemed like a coach party out promenading. They were posing for photographs in front of the strange group sculpture of heroic figures with gas mask faces on the promontory outside El Pirate, a cafe. Very Dr Who. The scenery itself then became increasingly surreal due to the organic shapes of the huge boulders piled on top of each other emerging from below the fine sands and stretching out into the sea. There are no small rocks or pebbles, the stones are huge and smooth, their fissures rounded like folds in skin. Here is a sleeping crocodile, there a colony of giant seals, in the distance a monolith face, precariously balanced. Dark with seaweed at their base, the higher ones crusted with yellow lichen, the boulders could have turned the empty sands into a Dali landscape, but the coves were too intimate, Cornish in their beauty. Small beaches sheltered between the arms of the giant rocks, each lapped by a perfect azure fan of rippling sea. On the landward side of the walkway more boulders emerged from a tapestry of wildflowers. Eventually the walkway ended in a seating area, but a footpath continued and we carried on following it, climbing over and round the stones, feeling the gritty texture of their rounded surfaces, which sparkled slightly in the light.

The footpath skirted an restricted military area, fenced in by generous rolls of barbed wire, from which hung boards with ominous red warnings in Spanish. The wild flowers were prolific as ever and the air reverberated with the hum of bees. As we turned a corner the picture book landscape was subverted by a line of old gun emplacements facing seawards, from which the rusted remains of long gun barrels poked their snouts. Disconcertingly we heard in the distance the booming of big-gun fire and saw white flashes inland, near some rather smart looking houses. We could only think it was some celebratory fireworks, coinciding with our guilty photographing of the military relics, or a sort of fog warning, as the visibility out to sea was falling fast. Undeterred we carried on leaving the defensive scrap metal behind. Drawn ever on by the lure of the next corner we wandered across beaches where ours were the only footprints and scrambled between rock pools, frightening small creatures, which disappeared with a plop. Weird globes of fluorescent purple looked as if they should have been inside the rock pools, but were protruding from cracks in the rocks above them, frightening me when I nearly put my hand on one. Here were anthropomorphic boulders to inspire Henry Moore, balanced in a huddled pose. There were a few other walkers, but not many.

Eventually we ran out of footpath and headed inland following a narrow road. We passed a houses with a small vineyard, a field with a large brown horse and an old communal wash house, which comprised a set of troughs with water flowing through, now full of algae. At the junction with a larger road we turned right, back towards our start. There were houses with more vineyards, a small poppy field and hedges with beautiful red roses seemingly growing wild. We took a fork in the road which headed back towards the sea, it passed through pine woods, which had been infiltrated by eucalyptus, which must be a concern in such a carefully balanced environment. At the end of this road was a hotel and we came back to a spur of the footpath and rejoined the coastal path just before the military zone. We retraced our footsteps as far as El Pirate, which has a rather lurid mural and is fronted by a person sized, stuffed, cerise octopus sporting a bandana. It also had a covered porch with a row of tables facing a glorious view, so we threaded our way in and sat down to a very up-market late lunch, pasta primavera for me and seafood risotto for John. Both first rate.

Today we found ourselves back there on our hunt for a supermarket, but both the supermarket and the cafe were closed. We went inside a smaller, neighbouring cafe and had such delicious milky coffees we fancied a second cup. The lady serving was busy arranging some gorgeous red roses with some cream lilies. After she had finished the counter was covered in a cloud of crimson petals. She scooped up handfuls and started them pushing into a catering size pickle jar full of sherry coloured liquid. I went over to order the coffees and asked what the liquid was, thinking she was making rose water. She knelt down and began to pull bottles out of a fridge behind the counter until she came up with a small corked bottle, full of brown liquid, right at the back and a carton of cream. The cook came out of the back to offer help and they both watched as I tried the liqueur she had poured into the bottom two iced glasses, shaped like tiny beer steins. It was very good and rather potent. Satisfied I liked the neat version, she put the cream away and waved me back to John with the two samples of her rose petal grappa to accompany our coffee. I assume it could also be drunk as a cream cocktail with the cream. As we left she introduced us to what sounded like Growler, a seagull that was patrolling outside, which she said had been there for five years. He cocked his head at the sound of his name and waddled cautiously towards her, keeping his eye on us.

He was there later in the evening when we wandered back, but everything else was tightly shuttered. It was probably a good thing we came here at the weekend, as this is clearly early in the season for them. We should probably have made sure to go to the supermarket, because the weather has now turned grim and everywhere is shut. We are hunkered down in the cabin with the wind wuthering through the rigging and a halliard two boats away beating out a flamenco rhythm on its mast. We wrestled with the canvass in the wind to put up the cockpit cover, which has made a big difference to the cosiness of the boat and gives us another room. A sort of porch come garden shed. The Spanish weather forecast does not agree with what we are in fact experiencing. I have always thought it odd when the forecast at home devotes so much time to telling what the weather currently is. I now miss the reassurance of having the report agree with the fact. Here it is like having the weather told by politicians. Luckily we have not far to go to our next port, so we can be guided by the evidence of our own eyes as to when to set off.

Posted in sight seeing, Walking | Tagged sculpture, wildflowers | 2 Comments

San Vicente del Mar

Posted on June 9, 2013 by yachtlyra

Saturday 8th dawned dull and drizzling, with low cloud that was forecast to burn off. We did not race to set off hoping for an improvement in the weather. John waved Mike off, he was heading for San Vicente too, but is not as fast as we are, so needed the whole day to cover the milage. We set off about an hour or so after him. The weather had not picked up much by that time. The spring weather in this part of Spain is not dissimilar to an English summer, not the new fangled monsoon, but the old sunshine, showers, mostly overcast sort.

Witness our arrival in Ria de Muros three days ago

and our departure yesterday.

The fog seemed to be worsening, rather than burning off. John turned on the radar as we backtracked over our previous waypoints, before turning to port for our journey down the coast. Ahead of us in the mist we spotted a mast swaying and worked out it was Mike. Being made of wood and concrete Sea Eagle did not register on the radar at all, but the small red flag at the top of her mast stood out distinctly. John was surprised we had caught up with her so quickly. Disturbingly she seemed to be heading towards us. John hailed her on the radio and Mike’s voice came back, cheerful as ever, to say his engine had overheated and he was making his way slowly back to sort it out. We offered help, but he seemed confident he would be fine and so we carried on into the gloaming.

It was another long days drone under engine, though we did have the pleasure of seeing dolphins again. They were busy fishing, so the visit was a fleeting one.

We also had a disturbing moment when the depth gauge went from reading over eighty kilometres, to less than four for quite a spell. There was nothing on the chart. I speculated about shoals of fish, given the dolphin and seagull activity round about. John waited till we were tied up in the marina to say that the same thing had happened crossing Biscay before they saw the whales. Less than four meters! Argh! I think it was fish.

The harbour of San Vicente is marked by a break in the golden sandy beaches of the bay. It is actually beyond the Ria Arousa, the next one we plan to explore, but looked very beautiful and is small, so we planned to have time to be able to head back into the Ria if there was no room for us. Luckily when we radioed in for a berth we were invited to come straight in, no problem! We were met at the entrance to the harbour by a man standing in a small boat, who directed us to the far side of the first pontoon, then motored up to the nearside, stepped off his boat and tied it up all in one smooth movement, to stand waiting to take our lines. The pontoon finger here is the shortest yet, but we are held firmly in place by a lazy line astern. We had arrived in time for a late lunch in the smart marina clubhouse. Afterwards we had a bit of a wander along the sea wall. It is a lovely unspoilt spot, though Lyra does look rather a giant here.

Posted in Sailing | 1 Comment

Noia

Posted on June 8, 2013 by yachtlyra

It is no longer possible for a yacht of our draught to sail into the nearby town of Noia, with its mediaeval old town, because of the silting. Instead we took a taxi and the driver pointed out the attractive walkway that had been built along the silted up estuary. We climbed up to the old town and visited the church of San Martino, with its amazing flying buttresses, which pierce the walls to emerge as long angels with folded wings on the inside. We later had lunch in the quiet square facing the church and watched a local decorator dice with death as he rollered over a white facade on a bouncy scaffold. First we wandered through the narrow streets of the old town, finding an indoor food market hidden among the stone archways. It was not for the faint hearted. At the entrance was a butchers shop presided over by a propped up pig’s head of immense proportion. Further along lay a double file of skinned, but otherwise whole rabbits, ears flattened back, glassy blue eyeballs staring forward. Then came a balcony area looking down on stalls, where women in plastic aprons busied themselves with sharp knives among gleaming ranks of assorted fish.

We headed out for coffee and sat on a corner overlooking a garden of palm trees and a tiled piazza. The coffee arrived with complimentary churros ( a finger of piped donut) and I thwarted a dive bombing pigeon and its small squadron of sparrows out to get there first. My reactions are not usually those of a kung fu master, but nothing beats me to a piece of churros. We then went for a stroll along the river walkway, where old fishing boats had been abandoned picturesquely to their fate and the pleasant views down the Ria were in the process of being blocked by the building of a new road bridge.

We retraced our steps, paused in a walled garden, where we hoped for lunch, but it turned out to be a rather smart bar. We ordered beer and were presented with our most daunting tapas to date, a whole pilchard doused in paprika oil on a piece of bread as finger food. Sticky fingered, we headed back to the square and the refuge of cutlery.

Posted in sight seeing, Walking | Tagged Market, Old town, walkway | 2 Comments