Another Continent

Our ship’s log is filled with tired handwriting in the first week of June:

• June 1 
  • Michael’s watch
    • 03:40 Gusting to 29K, put two reefs in main
    • 05:00 Wind died, 11K, shook out reefs
    • 06:20 Reef one back in, TWS 22K on beam
    • 06:45 Reef two in, gust to 24 k
  • Jill’s watch
    • 07:28 Gust to 25k, confused sea, tough sailing, SOG 7.4, N37 01.35 W 22 53.79
• June 2
  • Michael’s watch
    • 16:11 uncomfortable seas

We felt zapped of energy.  Mildly seasick and foggy in the head, we questioned why we hadn’t psyched ourselves up for the six day passage from Santa Maria, Azores to Cadiz, Spain.  We had no answer, other than that we thought it would seem short in relation to our recent 17 day passage.  It didn’t.  The days dragged on.

• June 3
  • Jill’s watch
    • 07:46 Rough seas still! SOG 6.1 TWS 16.5 AWA 54. Why so slow?
    • 09:16 Gerty was towing a large green fishing net.  It wrapped around the centerboard. Captain Michael lifted board, now freed. 
    • 22:35 No moon. Complete darkness

On June 3rd, Zachary’s birthday, talking to him on the satellite phone lifted our mood.

• June 4
  • Jill’s watch
    • 08:37 Tankers and freighters everywhere!  Shipping lane

We realized were getting close!  Those ships were coming through the straits of Gibraltar, via the Mediterranean Sea.  We were going to make it to mainland Europe!

• June 5
  • Jill’s watch
    • 21:34 Six fishing vessels nearby
    • 22:21 Fishing vessel Avo Antonio not answering VHF
    • 23:01 Gerty sounding, ‘dangerous vessel alarm!’

“Local fishing boats,” Michael said in a sleepy voice when I woke him in a panic.  

I was confused by his smile.  

“Spanish locals!” He was excited. “We’re almost there.”

We arrived in Cadiz on June 6th, just in time for lunch.  Michael was exhausted, but we cured that problem with his first cup of Spanish coffee!

In the Plaza de San Francisco, I had Iberian stew and he had one of the many delicious rice dishes that are not called paella. 

Since then, for us, Spain has been an experience in time, as well as place.  We don’t know when to eat, or sleep.  The cafes and mercados fill to capacity at 09:00.  Then it feels as if the whole world hides away at 15:00, only to find the band striking up at 21:00! 

To be clear, the band was real.  The Rosario de Cadiz cornets and drum band practiced at sunset along the seawall path that led from the old town to Gerty.  Listening to the music made us feel- what’s the best word?  I know! Welcome.

Our confidence has been building since then.  I’ve been using my spanish, and Michael is learning some too.  We’ve ventured into mercados, asking questions, and tasting new foods.

“Que tipo de pescado es este, el que tiene muchos dientes?”

WOW! The fresh fruits, vegetables, cheeses, cured meats, bread, olives, and squid!  Being American, the best way I can describe it is- European.

As obvious as the food is fresh, the buildings are old.  Lucky me I get to travel with an architect who points out everything I would have missed- the Moorish influence in tiled atriums, and benches that fill the city, for example.

One day he noticed a doorway to a recently excavated Phoenician salt fish factory.  I’m telling you, I was so focused on not falling off the uneven sidewalk that I would have walked right by.

If Cadiz is made for meandering, then Tarifa is made for kiting.  At least that’s what we thought.  We both tried it.  I made a mess of things for about twenty minutes, until 20 knots turned into nearly 30, and Michael took my oversized 10 kite away.  (perfectly fine with me!)  Michael made a good show of it- getting out there alongside the pros and looking almost as good (wink).

I’m writing from La linea.  The Rock of Gibraltar is blocking my view of the Mediterranean to the southeast.  I’m not complaining, but me and the rock, we’re unresolved.  It’s filled with 30 miles of tunnels that were blasted out during the Great Siege (1179-1782) and WWII.  Michael says that it’s amazing.  It is.  Soldiers, nurses, and cooks lived and died in there.  There’s a picture on the wall of a nurse administering a blood transfusion to a wounded man inside a tunnel.  I am a nurse.  The power of the rock, to control the gateway to the seas, is what’s worth fighting for.

There’s also St. Michael’s Cave.  It’s stunning, yet too deep to be explored completely.  Ironic?

The monkeys (Barbary Macaques) live on top, at peace.

It turns out that there’s a pen and ink drawing hanging in my in-laws’ home.  The artist drew the Puento Nuevo as it crosses El Tajo Gorge in the White Town of Ronda.  I’ve looked at it a hundred times (Michael has thousands of times), but apparently, we didn’t see it.

“We’re going to Ronda,” Michael told his mom over a Watsapp video.

“We have a picture of Ronda,” she said.

The next day we heard the birds above the flowing Rio Guadalvin, and felt the burning sun of the Sierra Nevada on our backs.  We looked up at the Puento Nuevo, and we saw it.  We really did!

Driving home on the winding A373, I thought it, but didn’t say it-  Thank you for taking me sailing.  

“Look!” Michael startled me.  “It’s a sunflower farm,” he said, “you’re going to want to take a picture.”

I took the picture, and I said it.

Last remarks

• Fair winds to Kel and Graham on SV Reel Riddem.  We look forward to seeing you soon!