Spanish dolphins holiday (cont.)
Entry for September 22, 2006: Back again.
We’re back in Almaria, and the weather has trapped us in port again. We all decided to splash out and have lunch in a Spanish restaurant on shore. We made ourselves comfortable round a big table in the shade. I must be getting my sea legs cause I’m noticing the absence of movement when I step on land (sitting on the loo in the enclosed cubical of the shower block amplifies the sensation.)
The local drink isn’t Sangria. It’s a mixture of red wine and lemonade. Really nice on a hot Mediterranean day, accompanying a big black pan of Paella.
We all take a turn preparing meals on the boat. No one is taking the task of ‘feeding the crew’ lightly, and I’ve had some great dinners.
Lunch is usually served out at sea. A selection of cold meats, salad vegi´s, bread, cheese, tinned tuna, and assorted cold leftovers are spread out over the section of cabin that I have been sleeping on.
We all build salad plates or sandwiches for ourselves and sit round the boat chatting.
We are sailing a vintage Norwegian fishing boat, so all the guard rails are thick wooden planks, like on a pirate boat, so we can sit on the rails and eat, or peer down into the water looking for dolphins and turtles.
I had been one of the last to be rostered to prepare the evening meal. Most of our amateur chefs bolt onto shore, soon after landing and are neglecting the onboard supplies, so I felt that I should use up some of the stocks that had been persistently lurking in the back of the pantry.
I found six tins of hot dogs in the galley, some rolls, and recruited some volunteer kitchen hands help with whipping up three different types of salad (just to make sure the lone Vegi had a good feed.)
Since we’ve been land bound, we’ve been skipping out after dinner to have a night cap in a local café.
The Spanish really know how to pour a drink. The waiter appears with a wide thick walled glass and pours a really decent slug (at least two or three fingers) of spirit at the table.
None of this ‘dribble squeezed out of a bottle suspended upside down behind the bar, chocked off with a tight arsed measuring device,’ that I’m used to back home.
I’ve been alternating Calvados, with a nice Chivas.
As mentioned in an earlier entry, the hotel I was staying in when I first arrived, neglected to wash the bag of clothes I left out for housekeeping.
I started hand washing a few t-shirts and boxer shorts in the bathroom sink a few days back, and it looked like I was going to spend the next couple of nights working my way through a bag of clothes that were stiff from sweat.
Lucky, the Mexican girl on board specks Spanish (she tells me that Mexican Spanish is quite different from the ´mother tongue´) and she helped me find a laundry, and negotiated to have all our soiled clothes cleaned and pressed.
We’re back in Almaria, and the weather has trapped us in port again. We all decided to splash out and have lunch in a Spanish restaurant on shore. We made ourselves comfortable round a big table in the shade. I must be getting my sea legs cause I’m noticing the absence of movement when I step on land (sitting on the loo in the enclosed cubical of the shower block amplifies the sensation.)
The local drink isn’t Sangria. It’s a mixture of red wine and lemonade. Really nice on a hot Mediterranean day, accompanying a big black pan of Paella.
We all take a turn preparing meals on the boat. No one is taking the task of ‘feeding the crew’ lightly, and I’ve had some great dinners.
Lunch is usually served out at sea. A selection of cold meats, salad vegi´s, bread, cheese, tinned tuna, and assorted cold leftovers are spread out over the section of cabin that I have been sleeping on.We all build salad plates or sandwiches for ourselves and sit round the boat chatting.
We are sailing a vintage Norwegian fishing boat, so all the guard rails are thick wooden planks, like on a pirate boat, so we can sit on the rails and eat, or peer down into the water looking for dolphins and turtles.
I had been one of the last to be rostered to prepare the evening meal. Most of our amateur chefs bolt onto shore, soon after landing and are neglecting the onboard supplies, so I felt that I should use up some of the stocks that had been persistently lurking in the back of the pantry.
I found six tins of hot dogs in the galley, some rolls, and recruited some volunteer kitchen hands help with whipping up three different types of salad (just to make sure the lone Vegi had a good feed.)
Since we’ve been land bound, we’ve been skipping out after dinner to have a night cap in a local café.
The Spanish really know how to pour a drink. The waiter appears with a wide thick walled glass and pours a really decent slug (at least two or three fingers) of spirit at the table.
None of this ‘dribble squeezed out of a bottle suspended upside down behind the bar, chocked off with a tight arsed measuring device,’ that I’m used to back home.
I’ve been alternating Calvados, with a nice Chivas.
As mentioned in an earlier entry, the hotel I was staying in when I first arrived, neglected to wash the bag of clothes I left out for housekeeping.
I started hand washing a few t-shirts and boxer shorts in the bathroom sink a few days back, and it looked like I was going to spend the next couple of nights working my way through a bag of clothes that were stiff from sweat.Lucky, the Mexican girl on board specks Spanish (she tells me that Mexican Spanish is quite different from the ´mother tongue´) and she helped me find a laundry, and negotiated to have all our soiled clothes cleaned and pressed.
Every time I read a posting, it makes me wanna board a ship and be out to sea. Thanks so much, I am really enjoying the travel by armchair.
ReplyDelete[this is good] Sounds like you had a great time. And your blog makes me homesick for Melbourne :(
ReplyDelete