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LOG ENTRY DATE: October 22, 2003 Please click here to view a map of the Canary Islands. We're just leaving Madeira, and have set a course for Tenerife, in the Canaries. We've spent the last 4 days in the Madeira Island group, which have been great fun. The Madeiras are made up of 4 islands, two of which are inhabited: Porto Santo and Madeira. Madeira contains the largest city—Funchal—at 250,000 people, while Porto Santo is a quieter tourist-destination spot. We arrived at Porto Santo on Friday, October 24, after a very fast passage of 4 days. We decided the night before to stop our westing progress, and make a direct run SW for the island. The issue was that the winds were meant to be southerly (i.e. in our face) if we stayed to the east of the islands, but we got antsy on our two-sides-of-the-triangle approach, and decided to go for it. Good decision, as the wind stayed from the NNW, and we made the fast track to the Porto Santo, averaging over 6.5 knots for the whole trip. We sighted the island about 35 miles out, it's visibility was due to it's impressive stature: it rises almost directly out of the sea, with craggy green ridges, and steep mountain slopes and cliffs. The entry to Porto Santo itself wasn't without it's excitement, as we ran into two squalls just off the island, forcing us to jog along outside the harbor until the winds and rain died down. But, it provided the boat with a much needed fresh-water rinse. Sailors being sailors everywhere, my crew tended to modicum of boat chores, and then hit the port of Vila Baleira. It's a quiet town in the off season, but Jack and Tom and Lincoln (with me in tow simply as referee) managed to stir up some action wherever they went. This included a place called the Apollo 14, "manned" by a voluptuous Portuguese woman, where we also met the crew of a 76 foot ketch that had come in behind us. The final bar was the scariest of the lot, where Jack's outgoing personality made him the friend of a guy whose grasp on reality (and who would have clearly preferred a grasp on Jack himself) was rated dubious at best by all of us. However, we avoided any real confrontation, and walked the 2 miles home in a downpour. Saturday we explored the town and the island, and were charmed by its scenery, its cleanliness and its obvious prosperity. We enjoyed beers outside in the center of town, and a fine dinner at an Italian restaurant (Portuguese food not being, well. . ., a driving motivational factor when one is considering being a tourist in Portugal). On Sunday, we shoved off for Madeira, which lies 25 miles south of Porto Santo. Our choice would have been to find a berth in Funchal, but the marina there is over-crowded and berth space non-existent. And, since it's exposed to the south and west, the anchorage is risky. Instead, we learned about a brand new marina that had been built on the northeast side of the island, so we headed there. It turned out to be an impressive place as the harbor appears to be dug out of the side of a mountain, the cliffs of which tower over boats. The trip over was made enjoyable by the good NW winds we encountered, and by the fact that we SMOKED the 76 foot ketch who left Porto Santo right behind us! We were on the porch of the restaurant at the marina enjoying our second round of beers when they managed to get themselves around the point and in view of the marina. This made especially happy, as her crew managed to avoid paying us—or reciprocating—for any of their drinks while at the Apollo 14 bar in Porto Santo. Sailors being sailors everywhere. . .. this time we hired a taxi to take us the 24 kilometers into Funchal for dinner. It's a clean and vibrant city, and we explored the waterfront area and ate there. Afterwards, a taxi driver took us to what must have been one of the top-ten-most-boring restaurants in the city. . . no music, no atmosphere, and populated by English tourists who were all over the age of 70. The only redeeming points were that a.) one of the Englishmen knew—God knows why—that the Yankees had lost the World Series and b.) the three 19 year old Swedish girls that Jack and Tom met—the entertainment here being that they believed the girls were impressed by their innate magnetism, and unfazed by the 3 decade difference in their respective ages. On Monday, it was decided that a full exploration of the island was in order, so we rented another hopelessly underpowered car and set off to see the sights. And what sights they are! Like Porto Santo, Madeira is made up of steep green mountains that are topped with sharp summits. They rise in a series of ridges that ripple over the island, and on the seaward sides drop off to huge, sheer cliffs. So, no matter where you were on the coast of the islands, the views were spectacular—especially the north side, where the huge Atlantic rollers crashed up on the beach. Our first thought was to find a place to hike, so we cut across the island to find a ridge path near the top of the island's highest mountain. The trip itself was pure entertainment: we wore the exclamation "wow!" completely out. The roads wind up and down over the shoulders of these steep mountains, through rain forests, large stands of deciduous trees, cedar groves. And always the views: into the ravines or chasms and out to the sea. I was reminded of Paul Bunyan's blue ox, Babe, that spent so much time on a hill that its downhill legs were longer than its uphill ones. . . it seems that all of Madeira must live life on the edge of a slope! The planned hike, though, didn't come off, as the top of the mountain was covered in a cloud—far too cold and raw for us! So, we headed down, and found a path that lead to a "balcoe"—i.e. a cantilevered viewing point jutting out over a deep ravine with views both up into the mountains, and down to the ocean. Interestingly, the path to the vista followed what's known as a "livada"—a long, narrow irrigation ditch that was built at the turn of the century to transport the water from the northern mountains, down to the more densely inhabited (and farmed) south side of the island. Over 1000 kilometers of livadas were installed along the mountainsides of Madeira. Because Madeira is so steep and mountainous, the road are either carved into the sides of the slopes, or follow tunnels through them. We all came away from our drive impressed by the how many tunnels the Madeirans had made to allow cars to penetrate the solid rock. . . we also decided that a Madeiran driving in any other country would surely be bored very quickly. In Madeira, you simply drive from one sight to another: a town perched on mountainside or on an ocean cliff; a spectacular mountain flume; rainbows from the ever-present rain showers. On our trip back to Funchal, we managed to get a quick slice-of-life view of Madeira when we stopped for coffee and directions at a small roadside cafe. The owner was a burly Madeiran who spoke good English, and we shared the bar with an old woman who wouldn't stop chattering and gesturing at us, or at him. He finally explained that she spent her days walking on the road—in rain or shine—and always ending up at his place for some "firewater" (i.e. local liquor)—none of which she ever paid for. He said he would give her the firewater for free if she would just drink it and leave, but she never did! It was all in good humor, though, as she was all smiles, and he was exasperated in a good natured kind of way.We spent the evening in the older section of Funchal, first exploring it separately, and then meeting for dinner in a back street, where we actually ended up getting some pretty good Portuguese food (scabbard fish, and chicken with a Madeira wine sauce). We also made friends with the waiter, Alain, who told us that his friend was the bouncer at a local, um. . . dance club. Not the kind where YOU do the dancing, but where someone else does it, up on a stage. . . know what I mean? At any rate, we ended up finding the place, eventually, and being let in, grudgingly, for free by Alain's large Romanian bouncer friend. To make a long story short, Lincoln and I—being the virtuous types—took the rental car back to the boat at 0200, where we slept until 0700 when Jack and Tom rolled in. Details are sketchy, which is probably a good thing. Importantly, both of them seemed to take it well when I woke them up at 0900 to help get the boat ready for the leg to the Canaries. This included sail-patching chores, and a trip to the top of the mast to fix a halyard swivel. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately, given his consistenly bad influence on the rest of my crew) Jack left us in Madeira to return home, making us a crew of three. Although four is really the best complement on Chase—it allows the single-man, 3 hour watch schedule. We've adjusted by creating 4 hour watches that allow for 8 hours of sleep between stints in the cockpit. It is our hope to arrive in the Canaries on Thursday, October 31st, at the island of Tenerife, where Lincoln will get a plane home. . . I'm sorry to break up this crew, since we get along so well and have had so much fun together. On the 4th of November, we'll pick up Katie in Tenerife for a 10 day visit, after which our crew —Portland friend Nat Henshaw and brother in law Ed Leary—for the long Canaries-Caribbean leg will arrive. |
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