GETTING BACK TO IT

GETTING BACK TO IT
Well Ive had a good break, about 10 days, and am firing on all cylinders. It was great being back home with Jac, but after a week she said I was edgy, or feisty, or something like that, I thought I was ok, but there you go. Whatever I was, I tried to improve, not really sure she noticed, and when it came time to get the train back, I think she was pleased to see the back of me. O.K. 'nuff said.

We had booked the night train from Barca to Malaga on line (computer dumbo) and it all went as smoothly as you can expect when your dealing with a Spanish website (nightmare, we had to phone the help line as it would not let us print the ticket, and I have to say they spoke better English than me, and in no time at all, we had our ticket. Then off we went to the station in Carcassonne to get a ticket down to Barcelona. All went well so I had my tickets, and was raring to go.

Jackie dropped me at the station at about 3pm and I waited for the first train which would take me to Narbonne, where I would have ten minutes to get the connection for the train that would take me to Barcelona. First sign of trouble was the train didn’t arrive when it should have. (Panic a bit!) Ten minutes later a sign went up saying a delay of fifteen minutes. (Panic a lot!!) The train finally arrived and I dashed to get on. (As if it will make the train go quicker, and get me to Narbonne on time!) No chance, you're in France!

We arrived in Narbonne 20 minutes late, and the officials are mobbed by about a hundred people who all wanna go to Spain. In French I think he said "Not a hope in Hell", and the next train to Port Bou (the border) was in half an hour. You could get a train at 1830 to Barcelona, and our next question was "What time will it arrive?" "Oh, it normally takes about two and a half hours." he said. That was a relief because my night train to Malaga went at 2145 and I didn’t want to miss that. (Panic over!)

I had one of Jackie’s special BLT baguettes, and read a little. and we arrived in Port Bou at just after 6 pm. The formalities were dealt with, "Paasports please!" then crossed over to where the Barcelona train would arrive. 1830 came and went. Maybe I was the only one with panic in his eyes, as all the rest were only going to Barcelona, and not headed for a connecting train. The panel showed a train at 1850, so where on earth was the 1830 we were promised? ... ... "Don’t ask!"

Finally, we were on the train and on our way. One official said it would arrive at 2100, still time for me to catch the connection at 2145, and then someone else said it wouldn’t arrive until 2145! Relax, Relax!

The train pulled into Barcelona Sants at 2140, and passengers wished me luck as I sprinted down the platform in desperation to get to my connection. Trying to find the departing train's platform deserved NVQ status, but I found it, and the train was still there!. . . . . . I tore through the barrier, only to get hauled back by security. In that second, I saw out of the corner of my eye, the train start to move away, and the security man showing me some notice which said that you must be there at least two minutes before departure! "@*!&$^!*" If the train had not been late in the first place I would have made it easily. O.K., I'll now cut it short, cos I know you're all bored to tears. I went to the information desk, and they told me I could get another night train to Cordoba. "That will be another 31 euros please, and be quick because it leaves in five minutes!" I got the train, had a good kip and arrived in Cordoba at 0730. I went to "information" to try and get a train for Malaga. Yes, one was leaving in ten minutes from platform two, oh, "Another 15 euros please!" I finally arrived in Malaga at about the same time I would have if I caught the original train. A short train ride to Fuengirola, and I was home and dry.

I caught up with my mates, and sorted some stuff out, and also managed to sort out the ownership of the Karma bar, seems it is a family affair, reminds me of the godfather, but none the less, the John Smiths is fantastic chilled. I got hold of Jane and Peter, you remember, the guy with the piano. He wanted to experience a bit of sailing, and I agreed to have him on board for the short 25 mile trip to Sotogrande, as long as he left the piano behind and brought lunch along instead. He agreed and we had a deal. Jane was supposed to come as well, but cried off because of some canal trouble. I said we were going by sea, but she said the canal was in her tooth and it had to be drilled! We set off at about 11am, and the wind was on the nose about 15 knots, so we motor-sailed for a couple of hours, and then were able to have a fab three sail fetch right past Marbella, where Jane was trying to wear out a credit card or two! It cut up a bit rough for the final two hours to Sotogrande, but by then I was used to it, and Peter kept saying it was marvellous. I think he would have said the same if we had had to hove too in a force 8, no knowledge is great. Peter is a pianist in Joy’s Bar in Puerto Banus, pretty famous I am told. (Joy’s not Peter.) I asked where he learned to play, and he said casually that he went on a three month course, and that was that.

I’ve gotta say, it was one of the best day’s sailing I had had on the whole trip so far. When we got tied up we went off to meet Jane in a bar, and had some nibbles and coffee, and then they shot off to feed the doggies at home. Me, well, I had tied up to a lovely old wooden Holmen, built by Rossiters of Woodbridge in the fifties, so she was a tad older than Simo. Colin and his missus offered me some curry and a glass of red, which I gratefully received, and had a good old gander to Colin. In the end he showed me below decks, and I must say it had a wonderful stateroom, and if Jackie had seen it she would have liked it. The boat was 38 feet long, and a fine specimen. I liked it a lot and I hope that when I return to the Med, later in the year, we will catch up for more wine and chat. I will keep in touch, trust me.

Early next morning, I showered, and did the other things one does when when the facilities avail, and got ready to cast off for Gibraltar. The distance rock probably about 25 miles away. It was calm when I left, and what breeze there was, was on the starboard bow, so I left the engine on half revs and we punched along at just under five knots. Ahhhhh, the air smelled good, and for the first time for a while, I would be heading out of the Mediterranean and into the Atlantic. Was the weather settled now or did I have more shocks to come? I hoped it wass settled, it certainly felt like it.

As I closed the rock, it soon became gusty, and a bit choppy. I suppose I was about two miles off, and the highest wind was 22 knots, so I kept full main, and very soon I rounded the rock, where to my surprise, heard the most awful wailing kind of noise. I was right on the end of Europa Point and there was a wreck being worked on by the biggest barge I had ever seen, with massive cranes and engineering works. It was surrounded by a string of IALA buoys, but the wailing seemed to catch my attention, it was coming from the land! I had a goose through the binoculars and saw another large wreck at the foot of Europa Point, and as I raised the glasses further I caught sight of what I thought was a . . . no, it couldn't be . . but yes, it is . . . a minaret, and it was attached to a mosque! I listened, and I listened, and even though I was a good mile away, the wailing was coming from the mosque! It reminded me of a funny story a few years back, when my daughter Nicki and her hubby Cristophe lived in Dubai. They lived fairly near a mosque, and the wailing, if that’s the correct word, would come out at regular times of the day. Sometimes Luca, (their son), would get a little out of hand, and we used to call the mosque "Winky’s House". If he was being bad at the time the wailing started, Nicki would say to Luca, "Listen! That is WINKY calling for all the bad little boys, you wanna go now?" He soon behaved himself. They live in France now, and Winky doesn’t have a house near where they live anymore.

Any way, sorry I digress, I got around Europa Point, and then had a nice beam wind, so I got all sails drawing, and an hour later, we were off the end of the runway and just beyond was my destination, La Linea. I got the sails down and stowed, and made my way into the anchorage. It reminded me of Shepherds Marina, all those years ago in the 80’s, when all the liveaboards used to congregate to swap yarns, and gear, and allsorts, but it looked as if La Linea was a well kept secret, because there were only half a dozen boats in there. I picked my spot, dropped the hook, and put the kettle on. It had taken me longer than I thought, and it was now early evening. I just chilled, got some food ready, and had a relatively early night, deciding to get the dinghy pumped up in the morning and have a run ashore.

I slept well, and was awake bright and early, and after a couple of cups of tea was ready to tackle the Avon dingy. I normally spread it out on the foredeck and pump her with the foot pump. I reckon the dinghy is circa 1960, and also the pump! The floor boards were shot a bit, so I had new ones made over the winter and painted them all white myself, they looked fantastic! The problem was, I never got to use them, as three of them got lost overboard in the stormy night in chapter one, so I only had one left, and I use that for where my feet go. The dinghy, despite its age, is in great shape. It did have a load of that rubberoid paint underneath, but again, over the last winter, I stripped it all off and cleaned the whole lot up with some acetone. It made it look like new, and it does not leak air at all. A tad of water comes in the bottom, but I know where, and I just need to get my finger out and put a patch on it.

Before I left Fuengirola, I had a chat with Dean, the fisherman, and he told me to pop to a shop and get some lures and a teaser, and I would catch "loadsa" fish, so I did, and I didn’t, but the thing is with fishing, you have to put the line out in the first place and I didn’t, although I did have good intentions. He also told me a good place to get lures and fishing stuff was in La Linea, so here I was, going on a mission to find the shop. I was worried about leaving the dinghy unattended and there were lots of old boys fishing on the dick head, so I asked them, with sign language, if they wouldn’t mind watching it for me, while I went shopping. I got to the centre of La Linea but didn’t have a proper address, just the road, Calle Jardinere, so I asked a policeman, well three actually, and they all started arguing about where the shop was. One said it was not in that street but somewhere else. Anyway, out came their map book, and then it was straight on, third left and second right, and then look for it. I found the shop and proceeded to spend fifty euros on gear. The prices were just a little more than half of the price in Fuengirola. I got some bread and got back to the dinghy as quickly as possible, and had a horrible feeling that it would be long gone . . . but no, it was there, and the fishermen wanted to see what I had brought before helping me to launch it, and row back to the boat.

I spent the next three hours rigging up rigs and setting up my teasers. I got one from a shop, and one was home made out of two small water bottles, that when filled with a little water would do the trick, Dean said so. Now, I hear you ask, what is a teaser? Well, in Spanish they don’t call it a teaser, they call it an exciter! Any clearer? For the uneducated, I will explain. If you just hang a lure out the back of the boat, it could be nine months before you catch anything, in fact, the chance of Jackie getting pregnant is greater! So what you do, is, you hang something of the back of the boat, just in front of your lures that makes a bit of a splash and noise, and it attracts fish from far and wide to see what the commotion is . . . well, that's what Dean said.

The next day I thought I would have a look at Gibraltar, and went as a pedestrian. I had popped into the small but very friendly yacht club in La Linea, and they said I could leave the dinghy there for 5 euros per day, and it is very secure. I explained that I would only be a couple of hours, and he just waved his hand as if to say don't worry. I just wanted to get some bacca for a friend, and see what had changed over the years. The last time we were there, was two years ago, and we stayed in Marina Bay. It was horrendous, and we also got charged £7.00 and had to pump the dinghy up to get ashore. Sorry, but we found the staff arrogant and unfriendly, probably because we didn't have the look and feel of people with a few bob to spend. Anyway, we vowed never to go back, hence the anchorage in La Linea. The walk across was about 20 minutes, and it was hot, but my tilly hat kept the heat from my head. I had a brisk walk through and enquired how much the Golden Virginia was, and was told 11.50 euros for a pack of five, 50 grams pouches. " OK " I said, "How much can I take over the border to Spain?" (i.e. the boat.) Only one pack of 5, she said. I was sure she was winding me up, but no, that's what is is, so I took a chance on two, had a bit more of a walk, and then decided to get back to the boat, do some dinner and prepare for an early start the next day ...