Still in a Holding Pattern

Exploring the Algarve

GS decided a cultural day out was in order and as we still had our hire car, that meant diving into the melee that is Portugal on wheels.  Since our departure, automatic road tolls had been introduced on main motorways so we dropped down a gear and set our sights on meandering side roads, fortunately well signposted. 

Baleeira Harbour on a good day

First stop was Sagres, a nice village that manages to cling to cliff tops in wild and obviously windy terrain. Surfers seem to like it here and beaches are less “turistico” bastions; some say this is the best of the Algarve.  Baleeira Harbour, at its foot, was not the spectacle we encountered last year as we whipped around Cape St Vincent, although again, even in this calm, we saw little evidence of the yachting fraternity anchored in the bay.  The name of the harbour hints at its whaling traditions, long since forgotten, while Sagres stands proud for its connections with Prince Henry the Navigator who from 1419-1460 launched Portugal on its Age of Discovery.

View from Sagres across to Cape St Vincent

We took a very long walk around the grim outpost Fortaleza, mostly remains of a 17^th c rebuild.  The earthquake and subsequent tidal waves in 1755 did much damage to the Algarve as well as Lisbon.  Little remains from Henry’s era, although his huge wind compass (15^th c) and the modest whitewashed Chapel Nossa Senhora da Gracica have been restored.  After a quick chat to some crazy locals fishing over the edge of the fort’s 200 foot crumbly cliffs, we moved on to Cape St Vincent.

This is a Wind Compass...but then you knew that!

Lying at what was once the extreme edge of the known world, Cabo de Sao Vicente has seen human activity since prehistoric times.  It’s a fascinating history for such a place but it’s easy to see how it was considered the end of the earth.  Portuguese sailors like Vasco da Gama (discovering a bountiful India) and Magellan (first world circumnavigation) soon put an end to that.  Before them however, Roman invaders named it the Sacred Promontory and St Vincent’s body washed ashore here in the 4^th c.  Legend has that his remains were protected by ravens even as it was transported to Lisbon in 1173.  Hence the black birds on Lisbon’s flag…   (Don’t do the math here – he was dead on the beach a long time ok!!)

Prince Henry's Nossa Senhora da Gracica

After contemplating dramatic off-shore naval battles, including the Spanish defeat by Jervis in 1797 which set up a young Nelson’s rise to fame, we set off again and drove north past Vila do Bispo, following an equally dramatic Atlantic coastline.  A narrow country road took us through lightly wooded nature reserves to Aljezur, home to the ruins of a 10^th c Moorish castle.   It seemed the entire village was out to lunch; restaurants lined a shaded, picturesque river and were busy indeed.  Our destination though was Monchique, so from here we turned west and headed for this small market town nestled high in the Serra de Monchique, a sprawling and dusty mountain range.   

At some stage, eucalypt plantings were considered suitable for dry serra soils.  Whilst it was nice for us to imagine vistas of Aussie country roads, these trees seem to have taken on a life of their own here.  They are a serious fire hazard in a country unused to such things and much of the fragile natural landscape is in danger or has been damaged.  So it is hardly surprising that we saw eucalyptus forests being culled and logs stacked into great piles ready for winter firewood. 

View over Orange Groves, Limestone Quarry & to the Coast from Monchique

From Foia, the highest peak, we took in breathtaking long vistas back to the Algarve coast.  As we looped through to Monchique, we passed tiny villages that seemed to grow out of the side of cliffs; one woman had her washing strung up along the verge of the road, the only flat area available.  Orange and olive groves were terraced down the side of steep ridges and vegie patches inserted into any fertile ground available.  Picture postcard scenery….

Lifting Bridge to Lagos Marina

We didn’t stop to see the 16^th c Igreja Matriz (“Not another church!” said the captive audience.) but did find time to enjoy a local coffee before zooming downhill, dodging vast hotels (wellness resorts!) built around the curative caldas. (King Joao II is said to have died not long after taking 'the treatment’ at these hot springs in 1495, but the Brits will not be deterred!).  Then on to Portimao, familiar and coastal.  It didn’t take long to find signs to Lagos – back to the hub-bub, content with having seen a little of rural Portugal.

Living the Hard Life

Lagos, Portugal

“Never waste a good crisis,” pontificates friend, Peter Blain (with regrets to Machiavelli).  So here we are at last, making the most of our time on the hard in the Sopromar Boatyard, having avoided a crisis or two...

It all began with a 5 hour delay in Sydney’s Airport.  Anxiety over this delay was further compounded by missing our connection to Faro, Portugal.  Heathrow in London is terribly unexciting. (Imagine Central Railway, Sydney.  And you would never guess in coming weeks the UK was to host major events, the Silver Jubilee and Olympic Games!!).  After some misdirection we found ourselves on a bus, Gatwick bound.  Luckily, we were put up in an airport hotel in Gatwick to wait the next day’s connecting flight (the resort hopper).  Swollen ankles averted at least.

Good to be Home again

Trying to leave Gatwick however, proved to be somewhat more of a challenge.  Our (return) tickets were outside the Schengen approved 3 months stay and we could not fly……despite having an ocean going sailboat in a yard in Portugal.  After much teeth gnashing, the situation was resolved by buying tickets (expensive, fully refundable.  Oh, sure! ) out of Portugal to meet visa requirements.  Getting a refund later proved to be somewhat trying too!! 

View from Home (Old Town Lagos over the River)

Finally ensconced in the yard, the Captain began to set up WJ3, all ship shape.  “Where are the charts?” he asked.  GS stubbornly refused to accept any blame for their still being in the upstairs desk on Dangar.  With two new computers and no charts (on those disks at home) we weren’t going anywhere in a hurry. 

Even Bruce was feeling a little flat

Meanwhile, our trusty Captain’s wrist took on a life of its own.  Unlike Dr Strangelove’s energetic arm, this one refused to work at all.  With one hand left for work, GS endeavoured to reduce that to none.  A quick attempt to jam his working hand in a floor locker (unintentionally of course!) produced lots of blood, a nasty cut and very rude words.

And the spider's camera shy today....

So, here we sit watching spiders set up home on our new feathering prop and waiting for duck eggs to hatch.  The Cap’n can barely lift a beer.  Either way, the Nortada (Portuguese trade winds) are still blowing strongly.  We’re hoping to catch them down east to Gibraltar sometime this season…. while it lasts.