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LOG ENTRY DATE: September 14, 2003 Left Vila Real on Friday, September 12, to explore the Guadiana River, which divides Portugal from Spain. The previous days at the marina had been spent in two fruitless searches: one for the missing ground tackle (see Tom's supplementary log of 09/10), and the other for a knowledgeable Spanish or Portuguese authority who could explain our European Community visa options. The search for the 45# CQR anchor and 60' of 3/8 chain was done by dinghy, towing a small anchor (slowly) behind us in about 20' of water. It was made more difficult by the fact that there were boats anchored in the same area... I had visions of pulling up one of their anchors and then trying to explain to them why they were drifting rapidly downstream (or up—the Guadiana has a 4 knot current in both directions with the tide). The only thing we——found—and we found it consistently, I can say with pride—was an underwater cable. It put up a hell of a fight each time we snagged it, but we always managed to free the "grapple". After 2 days of dragging (and 2 days of enduring the stares of the folks on the moored boats), we gave up the hunt... John O'Meara is coming to visit next week, and he's graciously agreed to bring a new CQR as baggage! Even more frustrating than the Anchor Incident is our complete inability to fathom the rules of the EC visa. Without going into great detail, suffice it to say that one can only remain in the EC countries (as a group) for a certain period—time—90 days—before a visa extension is required. But, can you get one in Portugal that will work for Spain? And if so, where can you get it? The answers to these questions are filed, I'm sure, in the same place as "what is the size of the universe", and "how many digits comprise pi". In fact, I am certain those questions will be answered before light is shed on the immigration rules of Portugal and the rest of the EC. However, it was not without trying. Tom and I dutifully spent an entire day simply trying to find the immigrations office in Faro, Portugal, where it was said (in whispers on the street) that the answers to all questions could be found. At first we thought all our efforts were to be amply rewarded when Tom discovered the Ministerio da Cerveja— which in English translates to "Ministry of Beer"! No such luck. We actually did find the Immigrations office, though (perfectly camouflaged in an apartment building, in a back alley, facing away from the street, with no signs), but the secrets were not, apparently, to be divulged to the outsiders. In order to justify our time, we got two Portuguese visa extensions, though we were warned that "they are only good for Portugal, and not the other EC countries", and that "we do not know what the Spanish authorities require". In the end, we simply decided to keep sailing, and let the authorities tell us what they want when the time comes—the hell with trying to accommodate them in advance! The trip up the Guadiana River, though, has compensated for previous frustrations. We departed Vila Real by going under the suspension bridge, which has more clearance than appears—fortunately. The river is narrow (though fairly deep), winding between the two countries through mostly uninhabited land. It's certainly dry and hot, but all along the riverbanks the foliage is lush, with a wide variety of birds to see. About 20 miles up the river is the small town of Alcoutim, Portugal, which was where we were initially headed. However, boats passing us coming downstream warned us of a festival that was taking place in the town starting that night, and continuing into Monday. Nonstop. All night and all day. Sure enough, when we got there (after snagging a mooring in the 4 knot current—no easy feat), they were testing an enormous sound system that made casual talk impossible on the boat. Moreover, when we went ashore (we always investigate the local culture and local beer supplies), there were two barges alongside the dock full of fireworks, and a posted warning to all boats near the dock (like Chase) that if they remained there, someone should stay aboard, so as to fight "an eventual fire". We decided to give up on Alcoutim—it was obvious that we wouldn't sleep, and that we were too old for the other alternative—"if you can't beat 'em, join 'em"—and headed down river, pulling up at tiny municipal dock in the even tinier town (60 inhabitants) of Laranjeiras. We might not have been in the town with the action, but I realized one thing: I'd very much missed the whole aspect of "gunk holing"—i.e. finding a secluded place where one can drop the anchor and simply enjoy the peace and quiet. For most of our trip, this was not possible... the only places to stay on most of the Portuguese coast is in marinas. Of course, marinas have their advantages—water, electricity, security—but the also have a lot more people, and they are generally located in high-population or high-tourist areas... they can get tiring. Later, in Laranjeiras, we were lucky enough to be befriended by 4 Portuguese guys who were heading up to Alcoutim for the festivities. One of them, Luis, had parents who still own property in the town, and they come up from Faro to harvest their wine grapes. It was one of those rare situations where these young, fun-loving guys also spoke English, and we were thus able to exchange some culture. Probably we got more out of the exchange, as they convinced Tom that he should accompany them to Alcoutim for the night—which turned out to be literally the case, as he arrived back at the boat at 0530 the next morning. He said they were still going strong when he left and, indeed, I could hear fireworks going off at 0830(!?) in the morning. But, our last day in Portugal was made special by the return of the same four guys later that afternoon. Luis, whose father maintains the original family house and farmland in the town, insisted that we come visit the vineyard and their house. What he said would take only 5 minutes turned into 4 hours, but we enjoyed every minute of it. We saw and sampled their wine, saw and sampled what they call "firewater", which is really a fig liqueur, and ate homemade sausage and salad made of cheese, potato, and cod. Their generosity and enthusiasm they displayed towards us made us feel like we had made fast friends, and also privileged to have experienced such an intimate—and fun—slice of Portuguese life. Back down to Ayomonte, Spain, on the Sunday, September 14th to anchor and travel to Seville to pick up John O'Meara. |
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