Sines
Beez Neez now Chy Whella
Big Bear and Pepe Millard
Wed 3 Sep 2008 19:00
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Sines
Tuesday 2nd September jumped up ready
to leave Cascais. Security guard booked at 7am to return our ships papers (
deposit on arrival for electric hook up and access cards ) he turned up at
7.30. That meant
   I had the time to take a sun rise,
something I don't get chance to do. On my 2-6 am shift I have daybreak but miss
the sun itself. To be known as a mega-yacht a boat has to be more than 40
meters in length. This one we thought particularly attractive. A whole host of
liveried staff were seen with lots of gold spaghetti on their shoulders. The
gold lettering on her stern said Donnesburg. Despite my best effort, First
Mate won't get dressed up for me. Yes, but he also suggested naked after
seeing the First Mate in Baiona. He'll have to make it more clear.
   Not long after leaving I had Bear's
starter sorted, once again the cheap gin was poured in to his mouth. We just
love the smile they give as they slip peacefully off their mortal coil.
Another day another book. The day was bright sun and clear skies but this hidden
lighthouse under localised mist thought otherwise and was blasting out on the
fog horn.
 
 The coastline makes the last 35 miles
of the journey look like one long beach with no distinguishing
features, in the book as you approach Sines ( pronounced Cinch ) it says
you should not be put off by the "industrial look". Sines can handle
500,000 tonne tankers and has heavy industry as well as petrochemicals
supporting its economy. Its the first time we have seen finger pontoons suitable
for these huge ships as well as fuelling berths. Although Sines can be
identified from well offshore by its many chimneys, many either lit or smoking,
once past you see the marina and the town, which looks quite charming FROM the
sea. Up until 1971 this was a small fishing village.
The Marina de Sines, lies behind a
substantial stone mole southeast of the fishing harbour. We swung round the back
to raft on the waiting/fuel pontoon whilst skipper did his paperwork thing.
While waiting I was offered fuel, a berth, a man to help me, cuddly toy,
conveyor belt etc. Soon enough we were settled in, and could not believe
it, in Cascais we had a yacht opposite called Dad's Mistress of Sark, here we
had Dad's Mistress of Sesimbra, a small fishing village up the
coast.
  
The marina. What it doesn't say in
the book is although the place is wonderfully quiet, the seaweed covering
each and every nook and cranny makes a noise like you are sitting in the
middle of a bowl of Snap, Crackle and Pop just as someone throws the milk on.
Add to that the snoring of said skipper and the Blessed Kissing Fish and bang
went my nights sleep. We were supposed to watch a DVD together before turning
in, after two minutes the gentle purr-like snore, ( you know the one before they
really get rev'd up ). The film, Little Children was a complete waste of space,
whilst I like Kate Winslet very much, she has appeared in some rubbish.
The ending ( fed-up making ) and the constant crackling left me playing
patience on the laptop from 1.30. The noise must have stirred something in
the skipper, he got up at 6.30 convinced the noise was our water tank leaking.
The beach is named after Vasco da Gama, as are a road, an avenue and
several buildings. He was born there ( Jump Jet, the comment came to mind about
the man on the bridge on your field trip with Derek ). The fisherman's end
of the harbour.
 
 Everywhere in Portugal has its
castle, Sines too. The newish Marina office, good showers, and a brilliant
fishing tackle shop. The young lady who ran the shop was herself very
knowledgable and spoke good English. I was allowed a new rod and reel,
inexpensive, although she showed me the Rolls Royce rod at 224 euros. "But
I've only trolled out three Mackerel so far and a few ugly pipe fish", she put
it back on the stand. A professional deep sea angler, who spoke no English (
surprising what you can do with sign language and a few grunts ) told me how to
JIGGLE for big game fish. I bought myself a glow-in-the-dark jiggler. He said
the fish doesn't actually take the hook in the mouth, but gets itself caught
anywhere on the body. I pinched my bottom and said "I don't care if I catch one
there, so long as I catch". Since seeing fly repellents used in Nazare doorways,
I now display mine publically with pride, hanging three from the pram
hood.
 After our lousy night we slacked
out until after lunch then walked up to the Library to use the internet. The
book also forgets to mention the smell of the place, the skinny old streets
waft the aroma of cabbage on the boil. Delapidated too, no men here with
their bucket of sand and cement mix to fix the loose cobbles. We saw some
very cheap shops selling at saledos ( in the sale ). It looks like the type of
town that hibernates as soon as the season ends. On arrival we had been
helped tie up by a very tiny Welshman who had arrived for one night and is
about to start his fourth year. I asked why he liked it so much " cos its not
the Algarve". I'm afraid on balance the cheapness was no consolation to my
fragile mental state. Mid Rice Krispies, I could see the nice men in white coats
coming to take me to the Funny Farm, telling me they "wouldn't do the straps up
too tight on my nice new outfit". Fortunately for me, skipper felt the
same, so we listened as the open sea beckoned and we left that very evening
at 19:30 for the 79 miles to Lagos. The 26 and a half hours in Sines
will NEVER be repeated. "Don't you think that's a bit harsh"
"NO I don't"
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