So, engine fixed, we hope, certainly seems to be & money's paid, guys seem to be reasonably professional, even if they did cost the earth. We've lost a lot of time though, between the delays in la Rochelle & here in Gijon for technical reasons, not to mention my afternoon spent in the internet cafe updating the blog etc. We'll head either this evening or the morning.
We want to get to La Coruna quickly & around Finisterre before the Summer starts to weaken. Once around there I hope to take a couple weeks' holiday in the Rias before heading to the Algarve.
Hoping nothing else breaks down.
I left a lot of our most recent pics in the camera, I will add them later.
Please please please add your comments! It'd be nice to know someone's reading this stuff, or
am I just spouting into an empty internet that no one's reading.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Gijon
The City of Gijon is the capital and main port of the province of Asturia. We arrived on the morning of Friday, the 18th July, after spending five nights on the anchor we were going to treat ourselves to a weekend in a marina. Then there was that reverse gear problem.
The marina staff were friendly and helpful, and had a mechanic down to me in the afternoon. Given that it was Friday in the height of the holiday season, I was impressed. However, having tried all the simple things it was clear that the gear box would have to come out, and that would have to wait until Monday. The news got worse on Monday, the clutch would have to be replaced, it would take until Friday for the part to arrive, and the price was one I couldn't help feeling was a tourist rate. There was nothing for it, I just hope these guys have the technical competence.
Still, like La Rochelle, Gijon is an interesting place. Our ability to explore was slightly limited by our lack of Spanish, but we spent some time listening to our Spanish tapes.
Gijon is also the capital of the Asturian cider pouring tradition. As best I understand it from my observations, you stand up and pour from the bottle, held in your right hand as high as you can stretch, into the glass in your left hand, held as low as you can stretch, all the while fixing your gaze into infinity in just about any direction except that of the bottle or glass.
You must only pour a small amount into the tumbler sized glass, about a wineglass measure, the glass must be tilted at about forty five degrees, making an even smaller target, and the practice appears to be that you flick out any dregs left in the glass before you pour. The pouring seems to be always done by the same person in a group, and while we have seen plenty of women do it proficiently, they only seem to pour when there are no men present.
We were first introduced to this process by Jorge, back in El Molina de Berange, near Algorta. Needless to say Jorge assumed the pouring role, and impressed us with his skill. He promised us that we would see much more in Gijon, he wasn't wrong.
On Saturday night, returning to the boat after a fine meal of squid, hake, langustines and cider; poured by the waiter traditional fashion, and by ourselves conventionally; we stopped in a busy Cideria near the harbour. “When in Rome ... ” I muttered as I positioned myself at the edge of the footpath, and poured half of the 70 cl bottle onto my sleeve or into the drain in the process of getting a little into our two glasses. I glanced around hoping no one had noticed, but my look was met by a young man nearby, there was no condescension or disdain in his expression, just pity!
The cider itself is much different to ciders I have tasted before. It has a bitter taste, about as much alcohol as a strong beer, and very drinkable.
Well, today, Thursday the part arrived. The mechanic will be back tomorrow to reinstall the gearbox, and with luck we'll be on our way to anchor in Puerta de San Esteban in the afternoon.
Copyright © Pat Egan, 2008, All rights reserved.
Algorta - Gijon
We left Algorta Monday 14th July. At 8 a.m. In the morning I took the dinghy ashore to pick up Aisling and Jorge, who were accompanying us for the day. A quick safety briefing on lifejackets and essential equipment, and by 9 a.m. we were on our way. Just a short 20 mile hop to Santoña, almost a fifth of which was exiting the massive natural harbour that is navigable all the way up the river to Bilbao.
The bay at Santoña is beautiful, and from a cruiser's perspective, an excellent anchorage. It is surrounded on all sides by land, offering protection no matter which way the wind turns. The only problem being finding a spot that has deep enough water. We had lunch on board and the girls lay on deck in the sun while Jorge tried to show me how to use my fishing gear. I confess, I have yet to catch a fish.
Aisling and Jorge had a bus to catch back to Algorta, after leaving them off we stopped in a shop. “No hablo Espagnol” I explained to the lady as I pointed to the bread. We paid, and then to impress her; “Eskerigasko” the closest I could manage to the Basque for “thank you”. From the tone of her reply together with the occasional Spanish word I knew, I understood I was getting a gentle scolding along the lines of “you say you don't speak Spanish, but then you talk to me in Basque and this is not the Basque country, the Spanish word is 'gratius'”. The Basque country was behind us.
On Tuesday morning we set off for Santander, another thirty miles westward. We had no plans to visit the city, so we just got ourselves sufficiently into the natural harbour to be sheltered from the swell, and dropped the anchor in hard sand off Playa de la Magdelena. We went ashore just for a few groceries.
Wednesday we were on our way once more, destination San Vincente de la Barquera. We were about an hour underway when we received a text from David and Inger in “Luna”, an English boat that we had met in La Rochelle. They had also arrived in Santander on Tuesday, having come directly across Biscay. We had just missed them. In San Vincente we stopped in a café that had free internet access, and we took the chance to check our email. The menu of the day, a 3 course meal including wine was offered for €11, we ate. But we dallied too long, when we went back to the dinghy the tide had gone out & we had to wade through the mud to relaunch.
Thursday we anchored in the harbour mouth at the beautiful fishing village of Tazones, just 11 miles short of Gijon. If you're ever thinking about going there by boat, watch out for the lobster pots in the harbour entrance which are marked not with buoys, but with a barely visible piece of floating rope, ready to grab your propellor.
Friday we arrived in Gijon. After five nights at anchor, a marina offers a nights sleep without having to get up and check our position, plus shore side showers much more capacious than Aragorns cramped one, plus shops, bars, etc. Luxury!
Reverse gear has been playing up, and as we docked in the marina it gave up completely. Fortunately an alert Frenchman in a neighbouring boat spotted our difficulty and saved my blushes by grabbing our bow as we came in. Friday evening is not a great time to need a boat mechanic, but the marina got one for me. Still, it'll be Monday before we're going again, longer if we need parts. No harm, we'd planned on stopping here for a few days. Just so long as the repair bill doesn't break us.
Copyright © Pat Egan, 2008, All rights reserved.
Algorta & Bilbao
The Basque flag has a name : Il Coriña, so we are told by my brother's fianceé's mother, and she should know, she lives here.
Before we left Ireland Maria, my brother's fianceé, had told us that her mother lived in Algorta. But at that time hadn't decided on our strategy for crossing Biscay, nor where in Spain we would be stopping. When it came to it, we had a good two day weather forecast, and Bilbao, or Algorta at the estuary of the river Nervion, just made sense.
We arrived on the evening of Thursday 10th July, and sent a quick email home to check we were in the right place. Friday we went exploring on our bikes, and didn't get very far before discovering the massive Puenta Bizkaia, or Bizkaia Bridge. This structure was influenced in its design by the Eiffel tower when it was built in the 1890s. It was designed to carry people across the river without obstructing the passage of tall ships up the
river to Bilbao. Standing 63 metres high and spanning 160 metres, it carries several cars, motor bikes and pedestrians across the river on a kind of a giant cable car called a “gondola”. There is also a walkway across the top, we took the lift up and the views of the estuary and surrounding towns were magnificent.
On Saturday Asun, a friend from her student days in Ireland 15 years ago, made the two hour trip up from Pamplona with her husband José Louis, and young son, Adrian. It was a bit windy to take them sailing, so we contented ourselves with lunch onboard and a walk to the Bizkaia 
bridge. As they had never been to Algorta before, we played hosts, relaying the bridge's story we had only learned ourselves the day before.
No sooner had Asun left when Maria's daughter and son-in-law, Aisling and Jorge, and her mother Florrie, arrived. Aisling and Jorge happened to be in the area on holiday from Madrid. Pretty soon we were ensconced in a nearby tavern, and joined by an ever-growing group of In-Laws to be. You've been “Kidnapped by the Fernandez family” Aisling told us. Later she and Jorge took us to a traditional Basque restaurant, “El Molina de Berange”, and treated us to a sumptuous meal.
Sunday we took the commuter train into Bilbao to see the Guggenheim museum. A remarkable building with it's different shapes and curves, but for me it took second place to the bridge. Then in the evening Maria's friend Begoña collected us and took us to her house where again we dined like monarchs on home cooked traditional Basque fare.
We spent that last night in Algorta anchored in the harbour, our marina budget having been clobbered by our extended stay in La Rochelle. Aisling and Jorge had bravely volunteered to crew for us on the next leg to Santoña, so we picked them up off the quay first thing Monday morning, and left Algorta and a very full weekend behind us.
Copyright © Pat Egan, 2008, All rights reserved.
Biscay
It was the 9th of July. Our fridge had been replaced, and we were keen to make progress. We cancelled our planned trip to Royan, opting instead to try and make up some lost time by heading straight for Spain.
The book says that Biscay rarely lives up to it's fearsome reputation in the Summer months, and the weather forecast was for calm. It wasn't comforting. Twenty years ago my sister and her husband were capsized and lost their mast in a Biscay storm. Aside from the natural dangers, the French military have a firing range, thirty miles out to sea for the southern half of the French coast. I hid my anxiety from Catherine as best I could
We filled up with diesel in Minimes on the way out of La Rochelle. My plan had been to deflate the dinghy and stow it, but we'd run out of time the night before, Port Rot had simply left us with too much to do. Instead I thought we could do it while we were waiting for the fuel berth to open. No such luck. We got there at 7:45, 15 minutes before opening time and there was already a queue. We attempted to bring it aboard while underway, but it's a 3.8 metre dinghy, and we just tired ourselves out.
Never mind, we've towed it this far, we can tow it to Spain. Accepting defeat I went below to make a reviving cuppa. Meanwhile a large motorboat nearby took Catherine's interest in the cockpit. She watched with some envy as a large mechanical davit craned its much more substantial dinghy, a RIB, into the water. She turned the binoculars to see the name, “D – U something” she said, then “- A – N – E - S, Duanes” she said as the RIB came straight towards us. “I think we're going to have visitors”. Cuppa was postponed.
Now anyone who imports a boat and registers it on the Irish Ships' Register is most likely going to encounter Irish Customs. As we bought Aragorn, and our first boat in the UK, we found it particularly useful to contact Customs beforehand. Ronnie Lyons, whom we dealt with was very helpful, giving us good advice about how to ensure we got all the correct paperwork for VAT etc. He also giving us information on the other, sometimes dangerous, work that the customs office perform.
With the background of this positive experience, a visit from the Duaneries was an exciting distraction and we welcomed the two men and one woman from French Customs aboard with smiles and bienvenues. I think our relaxed attitude unsettled them a little at first, but they quickly relaxed as our sincerity won through. That aside, I was a bit unnerved by the pistols they all wore on their belts and the remaining Customs man keeping careful watch over us in the RIB twenty yards off our beam. A further twenty yards out the Duane's mothership also matched our pace, I wondered what firepower they had pointing at us. Paperwork all checked and in order, they accepted our word that we had neither drugs nor guns aboard, they had a token glance in a few of Aragorn's lockers and were gone.
The rest of our trip across Biscay was a uneventful, in calm seas and light winds it took us thirty two hours to motor sail to Spain. However we had extracted a trophy from our Biscay crossing, as before Les Duanes left we got them all to sign our visitors book.
Copyright © Pat Egan, 2008, All rights reserved.
Wok Lid Technology
“What do you do for Internet access?”. It was Julian from “Electra of Plymouth” who had asked the question as we sat in the capacious cockpit of his Moody 40. It was in Concarneau, our first stop in France, and I started by explaining that Aragorn was still piled high with stuff, waiting to find room in a locker, and that I'd have to have that lot sorted before I could put my theoretical plan into action.
It was an idea I'd taken from someone's casual comment about “Matador” an English boat, currently in the Eastern Med, who were using a common kitchen colander to enhance their Internet access.
Long before we'd left Ireland Catherine had decided that there was neither room to cook with, nor to stow my wok in the galley. However, believing I had figured out what Stuart and Steph were doing with the colander, I had made room to stow the wok's lid in Aragorn's workshop. It would not be until we reached La Rochelle that I would be able to buy the remaining two components to test my plan.
The two items were an external USB WiFi antenna, and a USB extension cable, total cost €34. I then mounted the antenna in the centre of the wok lid and pointed it in different directions until I picked up an unsecured WiFi network. Hey presto! We were on-line, downloading email, weather forecasts, and chatting to the folks back home over Skype for two cents a minute. All from the comfort of our own boat in La Rochelle's Vieux Port.
The principal is the same as in your TV satellite dish, the semi-spherical shape of the wok lid reflects the radio waves towards the antenna. Of course ideally it should be parabolic in shape, like a satellite dish, rather than the semi-sphere of the wok lid, but wok lid was what I had, and it gives my signal a decent boost.
A side effect of this is the intrigue it causes amongst neighbouring boats, and the MacIvor status it earns me, at least until they know me better!
At the time of Julian'/s question, all of this still remained to be proven, nevertheless, I explained my plan. Julian listened attentively to my theory, and then asked my opinion on the device he was using. He showed me his directional WiFi antenna, basically a commercially produced version of what I'd described, except of course it had the proper shape and material. “Bought this on Ebay for a hundred quid, it's not bad”, he admitted as I expressed surprise that it was even available.
“Not bad” indeed, I have since come across the professionally made item on other boats, and they have three times the range or more of my version. A hundred quid of Aragorn's kit budget has been earmarked, but in the meantime I'll keep going with my Wok Lid technology.
To see how Stuart & Steph are getting on see their web site on www.yachtmatador.co.uk.
Copyright © Pat Egan, 2008, All rights reserved.
La Rochelle
If you ever go to La Rochelle use the first rainy day to take a tour of the aquarium. And if you ever go to La Rochelle's aquarium, make sure you bring a pack lunch, a flask of coffee, and a bottle or two of water. Take the whole day to see everything, there is just so much. But it's a pity that such a magnificent attraction offers nothing by way of sustenance to its visitors. When you're hungry and thirsty it gets hard to stay interested. But the aquarium is just one of La Rochelle's attractions. There is the maritime museum, there are those famous towers, there is the old city itself, and while we were there they were giving tours of the Aluminium 100 plus footer, “Tara”. A sailing boat built for arctic exploration, that had been deliberately sailed into th
e Arctic ice, and had crossed the north pole; or within a few miles of it; on the iceflow. The same boat had previously belonged to Sir Peter Blake, on which he'd met his fate at the hands of pirates in the Amazon.
For the boating enthusiast there is more. Not a mile down the road is Minimes, whose three thousand berth marina makes it a boat slum of biblical proportions, but with that comes an abundance of chandlers, boat builders, and marine suppliers of about every ilk.
But for me, the centre piece of this beautiful French city are the towers at the entrance to the old port, or Vieux Port. Both my previous visits to La Rochelle were by ro
ad, and from the first time I saw these magnificent structures it became a life's ambition to skipper my own boat between them. And so, on Friday the 27th June 2008 I fulfilled this ambition.
We spent our first night in the Vieux Port, right in the heart of La Rochelle's tourist area. Surrounded on three sides by the bars and cafés, with their tables sprawling out onto the footpaths. We were just far enough away for the noise for it to be only a slight intrusion. However, we were planning to stay for a few days, so when the next day Christian, the port Captain, offered us a berth in the quieter Bassin des Chalutiers Ancien, we took it. Here, just a hundred yards from the centre was a practically empty marina with berthing spaces substantially more generous than even Dun Laoghaire's. Later we found
out that this ancient trawlers basin had just reopened a few days before after a marina revamp.
Chalutiers would fill up while we were there, but initially we shared it with a couple of English motor boats, a couple of unoccupied sailing boats, “Tara”, and “Kondor”, from the National Yacht Club in Dun Laoghaire. Needless to say the Paddys weren't long getting together. I lost count of the number of crew on Kondor, but all I had to remember was the skipper's name was “Dermot” and everyone else was called “Joe”, with or without the “e” depending on gender.
With so few boats, and such large berthing spaces it was perfect to go practicing our marina manouvering, but somehow the
re was always something else to do, and then the place was full.
We spent longer than intended in La Rochelle on account of essential repairs, but this was no hardship, and we made full value of our time there.
On the 9th July we left La Rochelle with bruised wallets having replaced the fridge. This was not foremost on our minds. Next stop Spain, across the Bay of Biscay, with its fearsome reputation for sudden storms and mountainous seas. It would prove an eventful trip.
Copyright © Pat Egan, 2008, All rights reserved.
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