The Last Post

2011 10 10
La Linea, Spain

The Airport at Gibraltar - Note the Intersection
thanks to wikipaedia

Gibraltar is all that is left of the British Empire.  Visiting here has been a priority with Meredith.

Behind the Light is the Runway

The absolute best part of Gib, as the locals call it, is getting in.  From our in La Linea the border between Spain and Gib is a five minute walk.  To get from Spain to Gib walk across the border.  This takes twenty seconds and in that time you are vetted by Spanish Immigration and UK immigration.  Then you get to the fun bit.

I caught this jet taking off
traffic on the intersecting street (at the top) is stopped at a
traffic light

Leaving immigration control you encounter an intersection with traffic signals.  The cool bit is that the street with which you are intersecting is the runway for the international airport.  When a jet is taking off the lights stop all ground traffic from crossing the runway so the jet has a clear path.

These Little Fellows are Protected.  Rumour has it
when the Macaques Leave Gibraltar so will the British

After this things are a bit mundane. You go up the mountain, get the usual cursory introduction to the three year seige of Gib by the Spanish, look at some caves and tunnels, watch some macaques void their bowels on your tour bus and return to walk around the ubiquitous narrow winding streets full of overpriced shops.  Arriving back at the boat you are happy to have been to Gibraltar but are quizzical as to what happened to all your enthusiasm.

Shopping On a Gibraltar Street inside the Fort

The Fortification sheltering the Tourist Shops
from Attack - all real business is done downtown.

Prices here are crippling.  Thirty Seven Dollars for two burgers with a side of fries and a diet coke at a nondescript cafe.  We are not sure what was ground up to make the tasty patties but suspect it was horse.  For sure it did not come from any part of a cow. The electronics stores, reputedly source of great tax free bargains, were charging more in pounds than any American retailer would ever charge in dollars for the same item.

Walking through Morrisons, a big UK grocery chain, we found prices ranging from thirty to four hundred percent higher than their Spanish equivalent.  You wonder why the Gibbers don't just drive to Spain and buy their groceries and wine for half the price.

Which is what we are going to do today. We can't afford to buy British.

Sands of the Kara Korum - All Over My Boat

2011 10 10
Thanksgiving Day


La Linea, Spain 

One of our solar panels pictured at 8 am this morning
was cleaned yesterday at 8 am
and yes I know that the sand did not likely come from the Kara Korum but
it was a good book and I liked the title

Windy, dark and overcast, today is perfect weather for celebrating Canadian Thanksgiving.  Even though we are still wearing shorts we imagine ourselves back home walking in the fallen leaves, the slate sky pregnant with rain and the wind in your face.  A good day for a long walk along the railway right of way preferably with a good dog.  Even a bad dog would be welcome.

For near on three weeks Gibraltar/La Linea have been under the influence of a Levant,a steady strong wind out of the east carrying Mediterranean humidity and Saharan sand to be deposited on the suspecting but helpless citizens of Gib and outlying areas.  Each day begins with us washing from our solar panels the patina of sun blocking corrosive grit which each night knits itself into a continuous cover over each panel.

For the last two months I have grown highly appreciative of the air filter on our diesel for it is clear that every breath of this atmosphere is full of death for mechanical systems.

Maintenance is a critical function here in the Med: Washing out grit and relubricating blocks, winches, slides, anything that rubs on anything else in performing its duty for the boat.  Lots of work, lots of grease.  

It does no good to just add more lubricant to old lubricant which is contaminated with sand.  You have to remove the old and replace it with new.

A constant ritual of inspecting, cleaning, oiling, inspecting...

Africa Off the Starboard Beam

2011 10 07

Algecaidesa Marina, La Linea, Spain

So Hercules, Is That One of Your Pillars or
Are You Just Glad to See Me
The View from Our Cockpit, La Linea

The forecast proved accurate and we woke this morning to no wind.  Eager to get going we left a couple of hours before all the fearmongers told us we should.  Because we were going from West to East this was no big deal and we were not set too badly.  It is only fifteen miles from Tarifa to Gibraltar.

A huge body of old wives tales exists about how difficult it is to sail through Gibraltar and how and when transits should be undertaken.  Prior to departing we had been fully briefed in how bad the winds would be and how strong the currents were and of all the rules we needed to follow to have even a hope of making it through.

We woke up, weighed anchor and set off.  Our departure was completed at low tide, one of the conditions we were told never ever to try.  Sometimes you want to find out for yourself.  I hate being afraid of something I have not experienced first hand.

It was a nonevent.  With the wind absent yesterday's unpleasant choppy seas were gone.  Our transit was glorious and the adverse tidal flow set us about a knot.

It was impossible not to be aware that all firmament off our starboard side was  Africa and we are very energized at the opportunity we have to visit some of those exotic locations: Morocco, Tunisia, Egypt, Israel and Turkey.  This excites us.

Picking our way through the hordes of large freighters anchored in the protected waters off Gibraltar we could not help staring in delight at The Rock.  Meredith is  berthed at Alcaidesa Marina, a brand new facility where we are paying €8.50 per night for dock, electric and water.

Our dock is five minutes from the border between Spain and Gibraltar.  You have seen our backyard view above.

Gibraltar

2011 10 06


Tarifa, Cadiz, Spain
Right at the Straits of Gibraltar

The view from Meredith at anchor>
Tarifa in the Foreground
One of Hercules Pillars in the Back

We onboard Meredith are definitely buzzed.

Setting off from Cadiz early this morning we motored into a stiff breeze to Tarifa, about 50 nautical miles.  Tarifa is a tiny point of land just at the western boundary  of the Straits of Gibraltar.

Fifty miles into the wind makes for a long day so we quit when we got here and anchored off the beach just to the west of a breakwater at Tarifa.

To transit the Straits we want to run about three hours ahead of high tide.  Normal flow of water is from Atlantic into the Mediterranean which surprised us.

Tomorrow the forecast wind is nil.  That sounds like a good day to travel.  We are off at dawn's first light (0830 local time) which will see us suffer some set from tide but nothing unbearable.  Luck with us we will be in La Linea by noon ready for a day of sightseeing in Gibraltar.  If the wind is still up then we sit in Tarifa until conditions permit.

Totally in awe but still smug, we remain,

Curmudgeon and the BC

Mistake in Cadiz; A Win in Puerto Sherry; Attending Church in Spain

2011 10 05
Puerto Sherry, Bay of Cadiz, Spain



Once again I find myself stripping the photos from the blog because the only available internet will not support the bandwidth necessary to upload.  This is endemic on the south coast of Europe and is getting to be a real pain.  We are in a marina which advertises internet.  Live every other marina we have been in since and including the Azores the marina at Puerto Sherry simply fails to deliver.  We spent time at the University of Sevilla while in that city and were disturbed to find no wifi on campus and worse no not one student carrying a laptop or using a smartphone or ipad or whatever.  Not one.  This is a society unplugged and thus underinformed.

Yesterday Meredith moved from Bonanza just inside the Rio Guadalquivir to the Bay of Cadiz.  Moved is the term, not sailed, for there was no wind to speak of and even the whispers were on the nose. Still it was uneventful and pleasant except for the incessant circling of our boat by Coast Guard and Aduana boats operating under the aegis of Spain.  A lot of Europe's trade with Morroco in illicit substances is conducted along this shore and authorities were flying the flag and creating huge wake as they did so.

Arriving in the Bay of Cadiz we were faced with multiple anchorages and marina choices: Rota, Puerto Sherry, Puerto de Santa Maria or Cadiz.  Having read bad reviews of anchoring possibilities in Cadiz and Rota we stroked them off the list deciding to visit Cadiz by ferry if at all.  Our fuel was low and no fuel had been available at Gelves or at the marinas we passed on the Guadiana.  Dipping the tank gave me a reading of ten gallons or so with five gallons more on deck.

Not every Spanish marina has fuel and many that do have only gasoline.  Puerto Sherry was reported to have diesel.

The reports were sound but had failed to mention the fuel was priced at €1.35 a litre which is a pretty decent price around here.  On the way into the fuel dock we scoped out the anchorage , a pocket of water lying between the beach and a breakwater.  It seemed decent enough an anchorage but it was open to the south west (the breakwater is intended to protect the river from waves from the southwest and we would be anchoring on the Southwest side of the barrier).  If the wind or sea changed direction there would be an unpleasant swell.

The marina at Puerto Sherry is bounded on its south limit with a seaside condo development which has been abandoned in midconstruction.  Completed units are quite striking and the dozens of skeletons of partially constructed multistory homes are not unattractive except for what they say about the economy.  This is the Spanish housing bust we have heard of.

Done with fueling we walked over to the marina office to check on rates for an overnight stay and found offseason rates kicked in on October 1.  It would costs €14 a night with water and electric.  We are here for three nights.  Cheap fuel,  cheap marina.  Big win for the Meredith.

From Puerto Sherry it is about a 3.5 kilometre walk to the ferry dock where we would catch the ferry to Cadiz.

If you wish to avoid the long walk then you can choose to run up to Puerto Santa Maria where there is a Club Nautico.  Like all things written in French when you see a Club Nautico you know it will be expensive, twice the cost of Puerto Sherry.  It is also closer to the city, has its own pool and snooty guard staff (they asked me to leave the buggers) and seems a good choice for marina if you have the dough.  Anchoring off Puerto de Santa Maria does not look inviting even if it is allowed. A large building with tall fences and razor wire runs along the river and that sort of says military or police.  If so anchoring will not be permitted.

Today we took the ferry to Cadiz.

After eight days in Seville Cadiz was a disappointment.  This really is the ugly sister.  Cadiz has crashed.  It was intent on becoming a seaport of significance but the attempt has failed.  The citizenry are without work.  Planners are desperately trying to create a tourist industry.  And that is the problem.  Planners.

Cadiz downtown is all nice and pretty (if you ignore the soaring container cranes and offshore oil rigs being constructed right there) and ridiculously expensive.  There are a few old buildings and every one has an admission fee.  If you have not seen the Cathedral of Seville you might think the Cathedral in Cadiz to be grand.  The "old city", that collection of narrow windy streets that European cities all strut about having, is so small in Cadiz as to be perambulated in less than a day.

Sevillanos would laugh derisively about Cadiz' claim to its old city without ever wondering if having a bigger collection of tiny disfunctional streets might not necessarily be a good thing.

So desperate is the city for tourist dollars that they have removed almost all the benches from the old city so the only place you can sit is at a cafe.  And there of course you pay.  Twice what we paid even in the most pretentious neighbourhoods of Seville.

Cadiz does have a lot of churches and some of the less ostentious are quite charming.  Since arriving in Spain I have spent more time in church than in my entire life before coming to Spain.  Pictures are not taken because I am a guest in church not a belonger and it would be impolite.  Except at the Cathedral of Spain where I did take photos but only because the church itself was so proud of its "wall of gold" and its "silver goblet thingy" that it would have been impolite not to point and click a few times.

Church in Spain is ever so much simpler and more enjoyable than in Canada.  For one thing they have eliminated the problem of how much to leave in the collection plate.  You  remember sitting in the pew towards the end of the service as little boys or socially awkward men were enlisted to pass around plates on which you were to place your "offering".  I never knew what to offer or what my offer was intended to purchase.  mOstly I was just looking for time off for good behaviour if nothing else from the boring service.  Here it is easy: you pay at the gate.  There is a price list and if you want to get churched you stump up the price asked.  Today for example the Cathedral of Cadiz wanted €15.  I did not need that much church so I just passed.

In Spanish churches you don't have to sit down.  You just walk around looking at things and when you get bored you leave unless the Budget Committee wants to look some more in which case you walk around trying to look interested.  There are no boring sermons and no standing up and sitting down (and you never know when some churches are going to insist that you stand up or sit down).  

If church was run like this back home I probably still wouldn't go but it would make weddings and christenings and other mandatory church appearances more bearable.  Especially the bit about leaving when I got bored.

Walking about Cadiz I occupied myself by taking photos of doors.  The BC likes doors and is forever stopping and pointing to some entranceway or other to comment "Nice door".  Here would have been a few of my shots but as I say there is no  bandwidth.

Baggies Full of Cell Phones

2011 10 02
Bonanza, Spain
 36 48.7N
006 20.8W

Only eight days ago saw us running upstream like spawning salmon.  Today sees us back at the mouth of the Quadalquivir anchored just west of Bonanza (dum diddy dum diddy dum ditty dum ditty dum dum).  Like our last visit here the wind is blowing one way and Meredith the other.

Leaving Gelves an hour before high tide in Seville allowed us to ride the tide for near the entire length of the Guadalquivir but it put us in Bonanza just an hour before the end of low tide.  This meant we had strong wind on the nose out of the south and gentle current out of the north.  Meredith is dancing.

On Meredith we find 1 knot of current  is equal to about 30 knots of wind, ie it takes wind of 30 knots to equal the push power of 1 knot of water current.   In our circumstances  the two forces, wind at 20 and current at just under a knot were near in balance.  This is not a problem long term as the tide will soon be rampaging up the Guadalquivir and the wind will soon be overcome.  Until then we are just sitting about waiting for the boat to settle down so we can set the anchor properly.

While we sit I will get in a quick blog.

The quick post on cell phones drew a lot of replies.  Most people feel similarly aggrieved by cell phone companies although the jury is hung on the issue of which side of the Atlantic the ripping off began.

Regardless it seems most of us have adopted the same solution: a host of baggies, each filled with a cell phone and labelled with the country where that cell phone works: Canada, USA, Bahamas, Portugal, Spain, Ireland (yes even in the midst of a potatoe famine the cell phone companies must eat).

For the benefit of the wonderful young lady who seemed just a bit offended that I did not find European cell phone companies to be vastly more wonderful than those in North American I will confirm that tonight we will call our family and save a bundle.

We will call and say to each child: "Call us back".

You see incoming calls on cell phones are free over here.  So now our kids have to pay for the call and it is free on our end.   Now that is an innovation I am growing used to.

Your Postcards will be Delayed

2011 10 01

Seville, Espana

Our plans are to head back down the Guadalquivir tomorrow and make for Cadiz.

Yesterday we got around to filling out another round of postcards to go to various people we either like or want to impress with the fact we actually made it to Spain.  We ran into a hitch.

The main post office in Seville, the big multistoried downtown head office, has no stamps.    Perhaps "manana" the lineup of a dozen citizens was informed.  The clerk informing us of this most regrettable situation wore the ubiquitous face of the Woman of Constant Sorrow that Spanish women, like their Portuguese counterparts, have so perfected.

You knew from her comportment that there would be no stamps tomorrow.

The crowd, largely English tourist in makeup, was vocal in its outrage and mockery.  Clearly they were newcomers to the Mediterranean lifestyle.  Stepping forward I approached the postal worker and confirmed in a loud voice "Sello acqui manana?"

"SI, yes" was the greatful reply.  "Gracious" I rejoined.  "Muchos Gracious" I ended with a big smile of appreciation.

The woman's face brightened, not a complete piercing of the mask of sorrow but recognition that she had saved Spanish dignity and had met the performance demands of Spanish institutionalism.

You see, in the Mediterranean it is not about actually accomplishing something.  It is more about really really wanting to accomplish something.

Our postal clerk had gone to exceptional lengths to convince us that her post office would actually be selling stamps in short order.  Around here that is just as good as actually selling stamps.

In Canada we do not have good or efficient postal service.  Nor do they here in Spain.

In Spain at least the postal workers wish they did.