Wind rising in Vigo
Thu 13 Aug 2015 12:42
7th August contd.
Afternoon wears on and the wind is rising, wooden bowsprit ketch Nauja receives food on board, plastic boxes of it, and the wind is rising. A band of musicians arrive and start to tune up on her foredeck, and the wind goes on rising. Lights are strung from the rigging and guests start to arrive, and the wind is rising. Her nav lights are turned on, red and green and white and a marinero arrives in his rapid inflatable, as the wind goes on rising. He casts off the bowline moments after Nauja’s engine fires up while the wind is rising. Quickly he leaps back into his little boat, now used as a tug and helps her back out of her berth in the failing light while the wind is rising. I am concerned about this boatful of partygoers leaving the marina in an evening of such inclement weather. Little did I know that Nauja belongs to a company providing sailing tuition, training and navigation courses along with entertainment and events. She was safe back on her mooring in the morning.
8th August. We borrowed two sturdy and well greased marina pedal bikes and set off seaward away from Vigo along a mixture of roads and pavement, where we slalomed between bins and bus stops. The day was a fine Saturday and sun worshippers were out in force. The police were the only ones allowed to ride on the promenade so we had a virtually empty pavement to use away from pedestrians and cars. From offshore we had seen a carbuncle of a high rise amidst much lower red-roofed buildings. We rode over a causeway to arrive at its gates and find strict security at what appeared to be part of the University of Vigo on Tassila island. Nice to know. Rob’s saddle was not being very kind to him so we headed back from here to a little restaurant whose BBQ fire was smoking with the aroma of sardines on our outward journey.
This venue had the feel of a popular place with the locals and many of the long white-clothed tables had reserved notices on them. The staff were like a colony of ants, each knowing exactly what was to be done and doing it with efficient haste. They were very busy. The eatery reminded me of a narrow fronted dining room near Roscoff where knowing lorry drivers pulled off the road, walked through the unassuming doors into a long room catering for a couple of hundred and serving delicious food.
We were ushered inside to one of the few wooden tables in front of the bar and awaited our lunch of 4 sardines (yes I had been looking forward to them all morning) for me and a whole roasted chicken with chips for Rob. Local red wine was served to others in a glass jug with ice cubes, then poured into white ceramic bowls. I liked their rustic, no frills style.
Work started on Zoonie’s electrics on Monday and hopefully they will finish this afternoon (Thursday). Hose and his helper have been hard at it. Antonio comes and tells us what is “very important” repeatedly. I have learned that the much used “bali” means ok. When Rob checked the cost of the Odyssey lead acid batteries we are buying to the same in England these are much less in Euros here than they are in pounds at home. We have been quoted for 30 hours work and so far they have done 39 hours, shh don’t tell.
So we have had a few days doing very little. In the local supermarket, Fiosk, I watched the lady on the fish counter use the biggest, genoa shaped knife to carefully fillet a conger eel which two old ladies had conspired to share. The backbone came away perfectly, the white flesh body was then cut in two and the head also (fish stock?) and each half clingfilm wrapped on its polystyrene tray for the ladies.
You might sigh, and it is true that harbour fever starts when in the same place too long. The desire to move on is there constantly, such is this nomadic way of life. But with time on our hands you would think all the little jobs that sit waiting would get done. Only partly so as they seem best completed when there is a shortage of time making its use more efficient. And now we seem almost too accepting of the delay. Tomorrow we plan to fuel up and head for Bayona to celebrate my birthday in the Monte Real Club de Yates marina restaurant. Last year we were towed there alongside another Oyster 406 like us, after our engine failed due to a fuel blockage of paint flakes. Let’s hope we make it there unassisted this time; but then the best laid plans of mice and men........