Sanxenxo - Pedaloes, Midnight swimming and Spanish Festival/Fight
Stargazer of Southampton
Susie and Adam (both think they are skipper)
Thu 19 Aug 2010 15:42
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18:08.10,
42.23.81N 08:48.73W
After a peaceful night in San Vincente - next day
we set off a short trip around the corner to the next Ria and 'Sanxenxo'
(apparently pronounced Sanchencho) where we had arranged to anchor and meet up
with Mike and Denise who we knew in the UK and who also crossed Biscay in July
to sail the Spanish and Portuguese coasts.
We arrived and Anchored off the beach between the
two towns of Sanxenxo and Porto Novo. . . I did remember reading somewhere in
the pilot book for the area that Sanxenxo was a bit of a resort for Spanish folk
but didn't think much of it. . . . however - the activity on the
beach increased steadily and by 4pm we were being circled by pedaloes, we
had water ski-ers being dragged between all the anchored boats, we had a beach
party blasting music across the water to us and, most terrifying of
all - we had about 10 small children learning to sail dingy's right by the
boat. When the instructor in the support boat shouted 'TACK' - they all
tacked in a regimented fashion. The thing was - the instructor seemed to
only shout 'tack' as late as possible as several children in boats bore down
upon us. I could see the whites of the eyes and the fear in the face of
one small boy as he sailed straight toward the middle of our boat, but daren't
tack before the instructors say so. He got to about 6 feet from the boat
when 'TACK!' and he turned - you could see the relief in his face (and in mine)
as he whipped the boat around and sailed back off the other way.
.
We met up with Mike and Denise later in the evening
for some wine on their boat and it was really good to catch up with someone from
the UK that we knew before we left, they ended up anchoring about 200 yards from
us so it was a short dingy trip over. Returning that night after a few
glasses of wine we climbed back on board our boat and I started to tie the dingy
painter on for the night. Dingy was floating a bit further away from the
boat than I would have like so I pulled the line. . . and pulled the line.
. . . and pulled more line. .. . (it was quite a long rope) - however -
after what seemed like an age of pulling line - I got to the end, which was
looped around a metal hook that should have been attached to the dingy. . .
. the dingy was merrily drifting away from the boat in the moonlight (luckily it
was a pretty still night!). No sooner had I shouted the subtle hint of
"someone's going to have to go in and get it" but, splosh, Adam was in, clothes
and all - as we have mentioned earlier - the water here is 5 degrees colder than
it was in the solent before we left - I have never seen anyone cover 15
metres and propel themselves into an inflatable boat as quick as Adam so the day
was saved, and a whisky was required before bed in celebration.
The next day at Sanxenxo was cool and foggy at the
start which actually made a nice change from the heat, all was quiet on
the beach with no pedaloes in sight. . . but as the afternoon wore on we
realised that something was definitely afoot as chanting, cheering and noise
from the other end of the beach increased. So it was off to investigate in
the dinghy. Turns out it was some kind of strange Sanxenxo festival -
there is a rock with a statue on it in the bay, as far as we can work out the
celebration involved people in blue and white shirts attempting to land on the
rock and pull down a flag from the statue. The statue was ably defended by
people wearing clothes any colour other than blue and white. All
manner of vessels approached the rock - we saw a bunch of guys rowing and old
skiff made to look like a galleon (somehow), drinking whisky from the
bottle, old fishing boats done up like floats, power boats, dinghys and
they were cheered on their way by spanish bag pipe sea shanties (they seem
to like bag pipes around here). The boats were all full of people who
would throw themselves in the water once they got within 100 yards of the rock
and swim for it in order to join the brawl taking place on the rock. This
went on for about 4 hours and was spectated by loads of boats and folk on the
shore - we were in amongst the boats in our dingy trying not to get drawn toward
the brawl or toward the drunken rowers. But we cheered at appropriate
times I think. Finally at about 7pm the blue/white shirts swarmed
over the defenders and the flag was destroyed. Hurray. I
still don't quite understand the purpose but seems like one of those events that
they have in places like Orkney where someone has to get a cheese to the top of
a hill or something and it involves a village brawl.
Next day was time to say goodbye to Mike and Denise
who are going down to Portugal and to move on from Sanxenxo in case the pedaloes
returned en-masse.. . .
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