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LOG ENTRY DATE: August 19, 2003 After a long separation from my laptop (a blessed thing sometimes), I am in need of a god catching up. The saga of the transmission finally came to an end the night before I was due to catch a bus/train/train/hotel/train/taxi/plane/plane from Sines to Geneva. It was delivered with all proper parts, though Tom and I realized quickly that there were some parts that needed to come off of the old one—which was still in the hands of the original mechanic. Too much for me to deal with, so I left Sines on Sunday, August 10, and also left Tom in charge of completing the task. No problem—he negotiated with the mechanics, got the parts back, installed the transmission, said goodbye to our helpful friends in Sines (Marina guys and Internet guys), and then sailed the boat solo the 80 miles from Sines to Lagos. He arrived there late on Tuesday night, August 12. Free at last! Myself, I caught the 1000 bus on Sunday to Lagos, then took trains to Faro and, ultimately, Tavira—a lovely, unspoiled old town in the Algarve. Early on the morning of the 11th, I caught a train back to Faro, where I flew to London on Easyjet. Unfortunately, I missed my connecting flight in London for Geneva, so I was forced to spend 5 hours waiting for the next plane. (A word on Easyjet... they are "easy", as long as you play by their rules: schedule at least 90 minutes between flights—they don't check luggage through to multiple destinations, as you are required to pick it up and stand in line again to check in, etc... also, don't expect to carry on luggage that weighs more than 10 pounds, don't get worked up by long check-in lines, and try to have fun while you scramble for open seating. Delta, they're not). Then, my rental car in Geneva was not to be found.... turns out it was reserved on the French side of the airport, not the Swiss side. Eventually, though, I got it, and made my way late that night to a small town just outside of Chamonix, France, high in the Alps, where I met my sister and her family. We spent two nights in a "Gite", or refuge, that was right on the base of the hiking trail. So, on Tuesday, August 11, with just a few hours of sleep under our belts, we took off to do a 16 mile hike from Argentiere along a ridge to the summit of Mt. Brevet, and then back down into the town of Les Houches. We climbed up trails that had steel ladders bolted into rock faces, and watched parapenters step off cliffs and soar their craft (a mixture of a hang glider and a parachute) overhead. Although it was hot (Europe was not to end it's long hot spell until a couple of days later), it was breath-takingly beautiful, with views (from our elevation of 8000 feet or so) directly across the valley to Mt. Blanc. The 16 mile assault was topped off by a sprint into the town of Les Houches by Gregg and me, so as to corral enough beers to last us on the train back up to Argentiere. Mission accomplished. The following three days were all R-and-R, the Marstons having spent 11 days hiking entirely around Mt. Blanc, on the Trans Mount Blanc trail. So, while I may not have qualified for that may days of loafing about, they certainly did. We hit the very scenic, and very classy, area of Lake Annecy, about 1 hour south of Geneva. The lake itself is beautiful: surrounded by mountains, and colored a beautiful green-blue. Gregg managed to find us rooms right in the center of a small town, called Menthon St. Bernard—so named because it's where the the good St. Bernard originated from. Although the rooms were small, they worked fine, as we generally kept busy all day, had great food for dinner, a number of aperitifs after dinner, and then plopped into bed to start things all over again the next day. It was a wonderful time of both exercise (running around the area in the morning), and relaxation (swimming or doing the beach in the afternoon). In fact, I was even able to show off my sailing prowess far inland, when the Marstons talked me into skippering a Hobie Cat for a couple of hours on the lake. The first shift went OK—especially given that I'd never even set foot on a catamaran before—with the wind dying and our having to paddle back into shore. The second group—my sister Caroline and niece Sarah, had a much more exciting time with me, when a 20 knot squall picked up and caught us about 1/2 mile from shore. Actually, I thought we were doing quite well—skimming along at 15 knots or so, in a fragile state of control—when the French sailing master came out to "rescue" us. I'm not sure what he really wanted me to do, as the only English he seemed to know was "Push!". In retrospect, I think he was trying to get me to sail into the wind, but at the time, the three of us were pushing every rope, sail, and tiller that we could find. Once again, I found myself in an awkward situation with ze French, no? The final result was that we must have pushed something the wrong way, because the bows dug in, and the boat pitch poled head-over-heels, throwing the three of us off the boat! The Frenchman was able to right the boat, and he completed his attempt at humiliating me (which he failed in, as we all know who caused the boat to turtle—I had my plan down pat for a safe return to shore, thank you very much) by not allowing me to reset the sails, and towing the boat in. The other exciting event was watching my 10 year old nephew Jake sample parapenting in a two-person rig that allowed them to fly from Col de Forclaz (a cliff high above the lake), about 15 miles down to the shores of the lake. I think all of us wished we had done it, though I think only Jake was the only one of us he wasn't at least a little nervous at the though of two people jumping off a cliff tied to nothing but a nylon canopy and some fairly flimsy looking string! On Saturday, the 16th, I caught my SemiEasyJet flight from Geneva (I'll spare you the stories of my wrestling match with the French rental car people and the saga of trying return a car to France, and then fly out of Switzerland) to Barcelona, where Tom picked me up in a rental car at the airport. Actually, calling the Opel he rented a "car" is really being generous, but it did stand us in fine stead for the trip. We then drove into downtown Barcelona, and met up with Jack McBride and his family, who were there for part of a 3 week vacation. We did all the fun Barcelona things: visited the Gaudi archeticture (Sagrada Familia exterior view and interior view; Casa Mila), walked on the Ramblas, saw the waterfront, ate tapas and paella. Barcelona is a very nice city: relatively clean,easy to get around in, and interesting. It also earned high marks due to our being able to find beer in vending machines at any hour of the day! The ride home in the "car" was a long one—750 miles—especially given the driving skills of the Spanish. The rule of thumb on Spanish highways is this: do at least 80mph, and stay right until you absolutely have to pass someone. Then, dart into the left lane as quickly as you can and try to pass fast, for some Spaniard will be on your ass in about a nanosecond, doing a buck-twenty and blinking his lights at you to get your "car" out of his way! The plan for this next week is to continue to move Chase east from Lagos, perhaps into Spain. |
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