Tag: Spain

Harboring the Canaries

Harboring the Canaries

Markus

The last 12 hours on our way from Madeira into the Canaries were quite exhausting. We made a decent progress, in rolling waves and against the wind. Some salty drizzles went over the cockpit every now and then. The outer deck however saw a lot of sea water. Somehow, approximately 50 liters of the salty liquid ended up in the bilge, which is the deepest point INSIDE the boat.

The 50 liters itself wasn’t too much of an issue, but the fact that salt water gets into the boat is definitely unwanted. Skip this section if you are not interested in technical terms. Our cockpit and part of the deck are drained via reinforced hoses through the interior of the boat and out underneath the water line. Shorty after buying the boat I checked and fastened all of the hose clamps which secure these hoses, each one going from a hose sleeve below deck down to a valve, before going into the sea. Somehow, I must have missed one of these hose clamps, certainly the one which came loose, draining some deck water into the bilge. Item solved.

Arriving in the Canaries, we anchored in famous Francesa Bay. As many places, it has unveiled their beauty to us only after a day or two: its underwater world. The first day in the anchorage was tough again: 35 degrees Celsius at 35 knots of wind and 1 meter swell in the anchorage. Not a good anchorage on that day indeed. Anyway, we wanted to be there because it is a nature reserve and we got a special permit to be there. The good news is that our anchor held rock solid, but two anchor retention lines (the lines taking the load off the anchor winch) broke due to the heavy rocking of the boat.

Two days later and in the port of totally dry island of Graciosa, we found ourselves in a very little village, all houses painted white, with sandy lanes in between. There were only two hands full of cars for the entire village. A horse wagon on a restaurant roof reminded of the old days. During the weekend, the place was looking like a neat hippy village, with dreadlocks men and women trying to make some bucks with selling nice hand craft. Customers however seemed to be not too many.

On Graciosa and a week later on Lanzarote, we got more of the volcano stuff all over the place. In the cactus gardens we learned that the saying ‘hard shell soft core’ really can also be the other way round: some of the huge cactus were cut back. There we spotted that those cactus have a core hard as wood, packed into a relatively soft shell. Then there was the camel ride. We not only rode these fantastic animals, we also took a deep look into their eyes: most of them seamed to be good-natured. But there was one really mean looking chap, perfectly prepared for the Horror Rocky Camel Show.

More animals? Yes. When kissing our friends from yacht Tomskii Kastan goodbye, Markus learned that his beard apparently felt like a hedgehog. Too much hair in the face… At least she didn’t call me a porcupine, haha. We enjoyed great times with the Tomskii’s, certainly enough wine, great beach barbecues, and our kids learned how to carve dragons out of cucumbers. Thank you, dear friends, and see you again!

From Lanzarote we did an overnight sail to Tenerife. A teenage Mahi-Mahi of 80cm was on our hook. The colors were beautifully green and gold, until it died. Then the color suddenly changed to grayish silver, as most fish would look like. Tenerife will be the place where we conclude our preparations for the crossing of the Atlantic Ocean. A separate post about the preps will follow.

Something nice to close this season review? Yes of course: If Markus shall recommend a place in the Canaries, it will be the restaurant http://www.cantinateguise.com for an overwhelming burger with truffel sauce, and for the hot pants as well.

Auf dem Wüstenschiff über den Vulkan

Auf dem Wüstenschiff über den Vulkan

Markus

Für die kurze Zeit eines kurzen Ausfluges durch Sand und Felsen satteln wir von unserem Wasserschiff auf zwei Wüstenschiffe um. Man könnte sagen, dass sie mit ihren treuen Augen und weichen Mäulern geradezu niedlich aussehen (siehe Bild!), auch wenn dieses Attribut mit ihrem Lebensraum genauso wenig zu tun hat, wie ein Segelschiff mit der Vulkanwüste auf Lanzarote.

Zunächst aber besuchen wir eines der bedeutendsten Lavafelder weltweit, den Nationalpark Timanfaya. 1730 und 1824 ist es hier letztmalig zu riesigen Eruptionen gekommen, welche teils über sechs Jahre angehalten haben. Nachdem man im Drive-Thru Stil eingecheckt und sein Auto auf einem der Vulkankegel abgestellt hat, wird man im modernen Reisebus auf abenteuerlich geführten Strassen durch das Vulkangebiet gefahren. Ein bequemeres Museum haben wir noch nie gesehen! Die Landschaften sehen nicht so aus, als würden sie zu dieser Welt gehören. Aus der Nähe betrachtet geben die einzelnen Lavabrocken und Höhlen zuweilen sogar einen grotesken Eindruck ab. Die nun erstarrte, einst flüssige Gesteinsmasse kann einem durchaus an die selbstverständlich in-existenten Giessunfälle in einem Stahlwerk erinnern.

Das Besucherzentrum auf dem Parkplatz-Kegel gibt eine gute Vulkanshow ab. Über einem ziehbrunnen-artigem Loch – in einigen Metern Tiefe ist es 800 Grad warm – brät das Restaurant seine Pouletbeinchen. Die haben hernach sicherlich einen rekordhohen Anteil an Schwefel, und was sonst noch alles in pyroklastischen Dämpfen enthalten ist. Nichts für uns. Gleich nebenan haben sie eine Art Schweizer Milchkannen im heissen Boden eingegraben. Schüttet man oben 5 Liter Wasser rein, so verdampfen diese auf den vulkanisch aufgeheizten Milchkannenböden in der Theorie schlagartig zu 8000 Liter Wasserdampf. Diese Menge hingegen hat in unserer Milchkanne niemals platz. In der Praxis gibt das die schönsten Geysire ab, und alle wundern sich, wie das geht, haha. Du weisst es nun ;-).

Von Scania und Neoplan wechseln wir auf Mariaa und Vulcán. So nämlich heissen die beiden Wüstenschiffe, welche uns bei starkem Wind über den heissen Sand schaukeln. Um die Namen der Tiere festzustellen nestelt der Kamelführer – wir nennen ihn mal Abdullah – im krausen Fell am Hals dieser schönen Tiere herum. Wie er dort tastend die Namen fühlt, eröffnet sich uns nicht. Jedenfalls gewinnen wir den Eindruck, dass Abdullah eine ähnlich innige Beziehung zu seinen Tieren haben muss, wie ein Schweizer Bauer zu seinem Bruno und seiner Fiona.

Mariaa und Vulcán mögen es, wenn man sie (im Liegen) hinter den Ohren krault und über den Augen streichelt. Um mehr davon zu haben drücken sie sich etwas gegen die Hand, so wie Katzen dies auch tun. Wie der Katzenkopf geht dabei der Kamelkopf nach oben, allerdings gleich 1 Meter, weil der Hals eben viel länger ist.

Wie Wasserschiffe sind Wüstenschiffe gleichmässig zu beladen. Sitzt auf einer Seite ein Kind und auf der anderen ein Erwachsener, so wird die Kinderseite zusätzlich mit einigen Sandsäcken beladen. Wie ein solches Tier aus dem sitzen und mit 40% seines Eigengewichtes beladen aufsteht, ist ein Schauspiel für sich. Jedenfalls weist Abdullah uns an, sich mit beiden Händen am Sitzgestell gut festzuhalten. Wohl geraten! Abwechslungsweise und ruppig geht es hinten und vorne hoch und höher, bis die Tiere stehen.

Während dem Ritt über die vulkanischen Sandhügel stellt man sich gerne auf einer Kamelreise vor, durch die Sahara, von Oase zu Oase und von Dattelpalme zu Dattelpalme (für das leibliche Wohl will ja auch gesorgt sein)! Dann staunen wir wieder hinunter zu den Füssen der Tiere. Passend zum Fussabdruck nennt unser Sohn diese Quadratlatschen. Der Fuss ist eine grosse, plastische Masse (die Kamele gehören zu den Schwielenfüsslern). Sobald der Fuss abgesetzt ist, drücken die Fussknochen sanft diese behaarte Schwiele breit, und man fragt sich, warum diese Wüstenschiffe trotz der weichen Füsse eigentlich so stark schaukeln? Es kommt wohl daher, dass die Mariaa’s und Vulcán’s dieser Erde ihre Vorderfüsse im Gehen sehr ruckartig entlasten.

Zu bald schon ist die Tour zu Ende. Abdullah muss seine Tiere regelrecht beschwören, sich wieder hinzulegen: “Couche…!” “Couche…!”, eins nach dem anderen. So spektakulär wie es hinauf ging, geht es nun wieder herunter. Sobald ich festen Boden unter den Füssen spüre springe ich auf, um den ‘Hinlegevorgang’ des Kamel mit unserem beiden Kiddies zu filmen. Abdullah bedauert das sehr, denn nun ist Vulcán lediglich noch einseitig mit meiner Frau beladen. Ich muss mich wieder hinsetzen, damit wir erneut gemeinsam aufstehen können. Nun gut, der Höcker steht noch gerade, und das Dromedar sieht nicht besonders verärgert aus.

Ahoi, Kamel!

Beautiful Galicia

Beautiful Galicia

Markus

Galicia is the so friendly place where we unlearned sailing. Distances were lazy short and winds weren’t really there, so almost no sailing in three weeks with few but great exceptions. On the other side, Galicia is where we learned anchoring. This is again good news for a most relaxed life.

A Coruña was our landfall and first harbor in Spain, on an early morning back in first half of August. It took less than one hour until me and my son found ourselves sitting in an old town Café. The hidden plan was actually to go for some fresh bread for the entire crew. But when we saw the many Cafés with chairs and tables out in the ped zone, we understood that this was the chance to improve our plans. Sitting over the sweet breakfast with the best coffee in days and one or two Spanish croissants gave me some great yet distant memories about business trips to my friends in Barcelona.

Same evening the restaurant conceptonegra.com satisfied more culinary desires that we could think of. Up to my (limited) knowledge, only one other country in the world produces such a wide range of delicious meals and wines (the one in the med of course). Not only tongues and bellies were rewarded after 40 hours of motoring across calm Bay of Biscay. Coruña also enriched our mariner hearts: To our surprise the city hosts the oldest operating lighthouse on the planet. It is more than incredibly 1’900 years old, built by the Romans. It is another place which deserves special recommendation for Coruña visitors: torredeherculesacoruna.com

Costa da Morte was kind to us and soon after we passed Cabo Finisterre, the former end of the world. The general conditions seemed to be quite easy on that day, peaceful and fast downwind sailing. I was just typing a life-around-Finisterre message to a friend when I realized that the boom is going over. This was definitely an unwanted situation.

What did happen? The tectonic circumstances of the cape area caused sudden changes of water currents. We ran straight into a whirlpool. The autopilot couldn’t keep course and our traveling direction changed. The wind still came from behind, but now from the other side. This made the main sail flipping over, known as an accidental gybe. A main sail which goes over all in a sudden can badly damage the rig. Sailors install a so called preventer system which either keeps the boom where it was or makes the shift smooth. Our preventer was set and active for that route and nothing bad happened. Just a few question marks in the eyes of my crew and some smiling faces up on Cape Finisterre rock, I guess.

More relaxing were Galicia’s rias. Rias are fjord-like sea arms going many miles inlands. Weather is sometimes fresh and wet there, as the Atlantic itself is. And so was the sea water: 16-18 Celsius, depending on the bay. The hilly and green area sometimes reminded us of our home country. We learned to anchor in the nicest bays, played on the beaches, and some even went swimming. We went hiking, caught fish, enjoyed sunsets and scenic night views of the villages ashore.

Some of the rias are well protected by dozens of smaller and larger islands, generally rocky, with sandy beaches an patches here and there. The pictures within this blog tell about the beauty of the place.

Also the fast train which brought us to monumental Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela reminded us to Switzerland: fast, punctual, clean, and with a voice message ahead of the next city stop. Each message closed with a very logical and therefore strange reminder: “We remind the passengers who want to continue their journey that they should not exit at the stop!” Sure, what else would you do ;-)?!

Seeing the fantastic new city buildings, museums, harbor control towers, fast train stations and art pieces every here and there, it becomes quite obvious how much fluent the money was in the years ahead of 2008. Now, some Cafés sell a morning coffee plus a large croissant for 2 Euros or even less. Was it ever like that? We don’t know, but we have the feeling that this is not enough to pay the rent and make a decent living. It would be a tragedy, which hopefully will change to the better soon.

Our last days in Galicia brought a lot of morning and evening fog. Vision was sometimes poor and the fog horns were operated. A fog horn replaces the lighthouse in the case of poor visibility. They make Mooou-mooou-mooou-mooooooooou. Fog horns sound like monster cows with some calming patience in their voices. They reminded us that we should move further south.

Galicia’s final statement for us before heading down to Portugal was the Monte Real Club Nautico of Baiona, a jewel of a marina (but same as the other ones with a weak Wifi backbone). Baiona has some most pittoreske narrow lanes, which come to real life late evening when the locals go for dinner. An old fortress and now hotel sets a beautiful counter point. And the Club Nautico sits in between, with a small beach on each side. Look at the picture…

Also if we intend more than ever to cross the Atlantic, Spain will perhaps be the country where we spend most of our one-year traveling time. This is almost sure as we will be back in Spain for another two or three weeks, when entering the Canary Islands. More Queso, more Serrano, more Rioja, more Siesta ;-)!

Fisch, Fisch!

Fisch, Fisch!

Markus

Endlich ist es soweit, wir haben die ersten Fische im Kühlschrank! Den allerersten Fisch hatten wir sogar gestern schon am Haken. Dank Jööö-Effekt haben wir ihn wieder gehen lassen. Ein einzelner Fisch hätte auch keine Mahlzeit gegeben. Höchst vorsichtig wurde der Haken mit einer Rohrzange abmontiert (die Zange hat natürlich den Haken gefasst und nicht etwa den Fisch). Vielleicht möchtest du nun nicht mehr weiterlesen, denn ich schreibe ehrfürchtig und wahrhaft, wie es den Kollegen erging.

Heute Abend schwimmen plötzlich wieder viele Fische um unser Schiff. Da kann man gar nicht die Angel unbenützt lassen. Schon bald ist einer am Haken. Wieder ist die Rohrzange im Spiel, denn es könnte ja sein, dass er sich wehrt und plötzlich beisst! Schwupps ist der Fisch in einem Eimer voller Salzwasser. Das ist sozusagen die Zwischenstation, denn schliesslich soll auch er überleben, falls uns keine weiteren Fische an die Angel gehen sollten. Es braucht jedoch keine drei Minuten bis zum nächsten Biss.

Nun kommt ein besonderes Schauspiel: der Fisch schwimmt wie verrückt hin und her. Dabei zieht er die Angelschnur mit sich, und weil insgesamt sechs Köder und Haken an der Schnur hängen, machen die anderen Köder die gleiche Fahrt. Das wiederum weckt den Räuberinstinkt anderer Fische, und so hängen plötzlich drei an derselben Schnur! Seither wissen wir, dass sich diese Fische offenbar auch gegenseitig fangen.

Jetzt ist das Schicksal des Fisches im Eimer klar. Auch ich kann nicht mehr zurück, denn einmal ist nun einfach das erste mal. Der Fisch muss zweimal die schwere Winschkurbel über sich ergehen lassen, und dann noch den Kiemenschnitt eines scharfen japanischen Damastmessers. Im Gegensatz zu mir hat er jetzt keine Probleme mehr. Für Junior ist alles höchst interessant. Gerne hätte er alle Aktionen durchgeführt. Ich lasse ihn nicht, denn ich will die Transition vom lebendigen Fisch zum Filet erst mal selber beherrschen, damit ich ihn hernach gut anleiten kann.

Während die ersten beiden Fische noch Widerstand geleistet haben, ergeben sich der dritte und vierte sang- und klanglos. Entweder mussten sie einfach zu lange im Wasser am Haken warten, oder sie wurden dadurch entmutigt, dass von ihren Kameraden nur noch die Köpfe ins Wasser zurück sprangen.

Nachdem drei der vier Fische tot sind fragt Manuela aus der Küche, was denn das überhaupt für Fische seien. “Gute Frage!”, ich weiss es nicht. Sie sehen schön und lecker aus, möglicherweise auch etwas unglücklich, aber das ist bei Fischen ja normal. Nach einer Internetrecherche beschliessen wir, dass es sich um Makrelen handelt, und ein Freund bestätigt das per WhatsApp.

Junior singt freundlicherweise ein spontanes Lied für die toten Fische, und die Tochter erklärt, dass sie nie wieder Fisch essen wird. So geht das also.

She made my day!

She made my day!

Markus

It seemed to become a nice day yesterday. Our trip from the Spanish village Portosin to an anchorage bay around Cabo de Cruz offered some wildlife experience which was new to us. Motoring down beautiful Galician coast lines we spotted an area with hundreds of seagulls quietly resting on the sea surface, kind of unusual. We changed course right into the seagull’s place to find the cause for that gathering. It didn’t take long to find the reason: Thousands over thousands of crabs were floating there, just below water surface and the birds apparently enjoyed a big eating party.

Somewhat later and after steering around stunning rock formations into Ria Arousa, our traveling direction had changed so that the little bit of half wind just seemed to be enough to sail for the last hour of the day. Out came the furling mainsail. A furling main sail is a main that rolls into the mast for stowing it away. Due to the easy conditions I was a bit too relaxed with controlling the tension of the outhaul line. In short words, the upper part of the sail got jammed inside the mast. From below we couldn’t see what exactly was wrong. The sail just wouldn’t roll neither in nor out, at least not much. A jammed main can easily become a serious problem, for example in a storm or on a gusty day with the shore on the ‘wrong’ side.

As low winds were forecasted for the next 48 hours, we proceeded to our anchorage bay under engine again. Bumping into a heard of eating dolphins was a pleasure but it didn’t solve the problem with our main. Having the anchor dropped, we decided to cook our dinner and wait for ‘manjana’ to fix the sail. The night was calm, with the main sail up.

Now comes the new day, and what made this day. Fixing the jammed sail is another job which requires one person to be hoisted up the mast. Manuela volunteered, in fact that was the better solution because hoisting myself up would require a body builder. So up she went, armed with our two biggest screw drivers and a Swiss Army knife for the case of further emergencies, for example if one finger would got jammed as well. That wasn’t going to be an easy job, that was for sure. Manuela is anyway better with undoing crazy tough knots and the like, and an extra portion of patience would certainly also be helpful. I’m better with pressing the buttons which would turn the motor to drive the main a bit in and then two mills out again. In fact, I got dozens of in-and-out commands and executed each one without any comment. Down came some funny noises, like on a women tennis court, quite an appealing sail problem.

Sitting in the cockpit next to my buttons I was already thinking who to call in case we couldn’t solve the issue by ourselves. Perhaps Carmela, Office Manager in the Club Nautic Portosin could recommend someone around Cabo Cruz who was good in fixing jammed sails. Just yesterday when checking out, she offered that we could call her, should we run into troubles. That was the friendliest of the friendly marina staff I have ever seen.

At my next glimpse up the mast I realized the the main now looked considerably better. Apparently, Manuela managed the worst part of it, and soon the command came to fully roll in and then haul out the sail for checking the full functionality. It worked, and my heart was – once more – jumping with joy.

My estimation was that it could take beyond three hours and a couple of new words for the kids to get this item solved. Instead, Manuela made it within one hour only and in silence (apart from the tennis, you know…). Moreover it should be mentioned here that she had fear of heights for the last decades, and working 18 meters above sea level, held and secured by two steel wires is definitely something which is well included in such fears. That even elevates her achievement of the day.

So Manuela received warm congratulations from the entire crew and enjoyed the second half of the day without any further house keeping or cooking or any other duties ;-). I gladly noted that my relaxed sail setting didn’t end up in one or two days of trouble, perhaps with many bucks gone.

Here I have to state that I would never trade in our fully electric driven furling main sail, also not after this nasty experience which, yes, left a couple of red drops on our main, nothing bad. Too many are the advantages. A yet unsolved issue however is that the bimini (cockpit shadow cloth) prevents direct sight to the main. That means that the one operating the main cannot really see what he is doing. This remains an open point for the time being.