Porto on a very wet day, and consequently
indulge in a very long lunch by the river. We then cross to the south side to
visit a Port lodge, choosing Sandemans, as the mysterious cloaked figure
established with their brand seems most appropriate to this week’s English theme
at boat-school which is ‘disguise’! (How to involve innocent children in the
evils of marketing and alcohol !!?). Took the funicular railway back to the top
of the town (not a patch on the one at Bom Jesus).
cannot do justice to the historical atmosphere (15th century onwards
all possible to imagine, especially with a limited amount of historical
knowledge!) of the old Porto stretching down to
the river, beneath the Ponte de Dom Luis I. Emerging from our excellent tour of
Sandemans I find I could sit and muse all afternoon on what must be one of the
great ‘city’ scenes of Europe. Could we get
Caroline Holley painting here for a week?
have liked to spend more time in Porto but the
journey from Leixoes was quite long, and we feel we are already chasing the
warmer settled weather we crave….so we move on.
the best time to leave and only after a last minute consultation with Declan,
whose boat and family (Debbie, Donnika,and Saiorse from Galway) we have been in and out of company with since
Bayona, decide to postpone for 24 hours. We are very glad that we do, as those
who leave immediately experience 3-4 metre swells and a very difficult entry at
Foz; one huge wave breaking over “True Blue” and slewing her sideways, giving
quite a fright to a very experienced skipper!
later the swell has subsided somewhat, but we experience our first real Atlantic
seascape; big rolling swells, which are very impressive, and in this state quite
fun to ride, and harmless! Entry to Foz proves straight forward, despite its
the night, and moved on…..
the Cabo Carvoeiro.
calm sea all the way meant no sailing, again, but at least we got away lightly
with what can be a very difficult approach to Peniche (winds around the
and Peniche live up to Portugal,s reputation for belligerent
and officious bureaucracy. We have a splendid meal of wild sea salmon, and
slightly wild Germans with ‘Burt’, our Belgian neighbour at Pedro’s restaurant.
Burt, who speaks Portuguese, somehow manages to give the waiter the impression
that we were queued before our German friends, which I think might have been a
mistake. I maintain a diplomatic silence. One of the Germans turns out to be
terribly well mannered, so I apologise as we sit down to