Ayamonte again
Our arrival in Ayamonte co-incided happily with Semana Santa or Holy Week. The week is celebrated by a series of processions day and night throughout every Spanish town and village. After watching one of the processions from one of the 9 churches in the town of Ayamonte, which doesn’t even warrant its own sentence in the Rough Guide to Spain, we were so impressed with the spectacle that we hatched a plan to go and see Semana Santa in ‘the’ place to see it – Seville. It’s widely reputed that the only accommodation left in Seville in Holy Week is exceptionally expensive, so we planned to travel up by bus (2 hours) in the afternoon of Maundy Thursday, stay up all night as the Spanish do anyway, and travel back the following day. We put a few essentials in a small rucksack and set off on an adventure.
An overland intermission in Seville (Maundy Thursday)
On arrival in Seville it soon became apparent that the best bet was just to follow the streams of people who clearly knew where to head for to see the next procession. It was a great night, interspersed by warm-ups in bars with a few tapas to see us through the night. A hotel would certainly have been a waste of money, as we wouldn’t have seen much of it!
It was lovely to see so many people, many of them teenagers and young adults, genuinely enjoying the spectacle of their religion. As each pasos (processional float) passed by, a reverent hush would descend on the crowd. We walked miles and stood for hours.
One procession we viewed had a full 1,700 participants slowly moving past in various religious costumes from the tall pointed hat brigade to fully armed roman centurion outfits, feathers galore. Daybreak seemed to arrive very quickly. All the kids were still up, in or following the processions, all well behaved, not a single drunk seen all night despite all the bars still being open. We left on the 10am bus, halfway through the 12 hour procession that had started at 2am and would not finish until lunchtime. Despite the rigors of being on their feet all this time, and lugging around heavy (1 Ton) pasos, and the band having been marching and playing throughout the parade and still with 3 hours to go, they were all in remarkably good spirits. For us it was time to take the bus back to Ayamonte for sleep.
Thanks to Wikipedia for the following explanation of Semana Santa in Seville for those interested in the background to the processions. Other Spanish cities have processions; Malaga is apparently the next best to Seville if you are passing through the area at Easter sometime.
‘Holy Week in Seville
Seville arguably holds some of the most elaborate processions for Holy Week. A tradition that dates from Counterreformation times, or even earlier. The "Semana Santa en Sevilla" is notable for featuring the procession of "pasos", lifelike wood sculptures of individual scenes of the events that happened between Jesus' entry in Jerusalem and his burial, or images of the Virgin Mary showing restained grief for the torture and killing of her son. Some of the images are of great antiquity and artistic masterworks. These "pasos" (which usually weigh over a metric tonne) are physically carried on the neck of costaleros (literally "sack men", for its distinctive -and functional- headdress). The "costaleros" (from 24 to 48) are hidden inside the platform of the "paso", so it seems to walk alone. Historically dock workers were hired to carry the "pasos". From 1973 onward, that task has been universally taken over by the members of the confraternities who organize each procession.
The "pasos" are set up and maintained by hermandades and cofradías, religious brotherhoods, confraternities or sodalities, which precede the "pasos" (up to 3) dressed in penitential robes. Some of the processions are near 3000 persons each. In Seville, but for some officials, "costaleros", acolytes and a few other exceptions every participant must wear penitential robes and be hooded. A brass band may accompany the group, playing funereal religious hymns or "marchas" written for the occasion. Some processions are silent with no musical accompaniment. As each procession leaves its home church, called a salida, as well at its return (the entrada) and along the march route there are special extemporaneous songs offered by individuals in the crowd or a balcony. These songs are generically called saetas (arrows).
A total of 58 processions (as of 2007) occur during the week, from Palm Sunday through Easter Sunday morning. On Maundy Thursday there are two sets of processions. One group occurs during the afternoon and evening. The second set begins near midnight and continues until early afternoon on Good Friday. The most famous processions occur this night (the madrugá), including Jesus del Gran Poder, Esperanza - Macarena, and Esperanza - Triana.’
After all the excitement, we returned to Ayamonte to watch the smaller, but nonetheless elaborate processions over the weekend culminating in the colourful and upbeat Easter Sunday parade, where the penitents are not hooded and the ladies join the parade in traditional Andalucian headdresses.
We were ready to move on, having decided to enjoy the Costa de Luz for a while, which is reported to be the last delightful stretch of Spain before the Costas del Sol and Blanca, with glorious beaches around towns that still retain some of their original character.
Isla Christina/Isla Canela
Our first trip was just a few miles up the coast to free us from the tide constraints of the shallows outside Ayamonte. We approached Isla Christina marina, but were told that we were 40cm too long for their marina!!! We went across to Isla Canela in the same harbor, which is an up market apartment complex with absolutely no character at all. At least it was cheap. Just could not wait to get out of there!
Chipiona
Next day we motored 50 miles in desperation to get to Chipiona. When we arrived, I thought that maybe all the people had been abducted by aliens – it was so quiet that nothing stirred! We stayed a couple of days here while we sorted out the phone, and did some shopping. It is a long and boring walk into the town. Once there, it was pleasant enough, the bars cheap and not too touristy. The beaches were lovely, and it had an air of a once popular tourist destination that has got lost along the way and is in a sleepy decline.
Rota
We were soon ready for a move, and 15 miles to Rota was not too strenuous.
Rota is at the north end of the Bay of Cadiz, and is better known for the huge US Naval and air force base opposite the marina. Once inside the marina, the only evidence of the base, was a few helicopter and planes overhead, but they were not too much of a distraction. The old town is lovely in the daytime, with a happy, Spanish feel to it. There’s plenty of shopping and bars to be enjoyed, and a very traditional bodega where you can sample all sorts of sherry from barrels at 40 cents a go. At night however the town was full of loud yanks, drinking and showing off their cars and stereos to young Spanish girls.
There is a chain of government run marinas through Andalucía, (www.eppa.es) which are very cheap (€13.50 per night) and our choice of stop is largely determined by the availability of these marinas at the moment, particularly given our experience the next day….
El Puerto de Santa Maria
Across the Bay of Cadiz we visited a private yacht-club for a change. It was lovely, although in a state of decay. There is a swimming pool there (empty) and tennis courts (full) and a bar on the river (very nice). The town was closed for the afternoon (Saturday), although it was very pleasant. It is where the sherry is brought down from Jerez to be stored and shipped. Fortunately all the bodegas were closed so we couldn’t get into trouble!! The downside of this place is the price - €35 per night – the most expensive yet of the whole trip. The friendly marinero(captain of the port), clearly felt sorry for us paupers, and gave us some freshly caught fish for our supper! And some advice on how to save some marina fee money (by lying!) which we will take up at later opportunities.
We moved to a heavenly anchorage to the west of the river entrance and stayed for free – enjoying the tranquility after all the other boats had gone back to their marinas, leaving us to enjoy the views of the bay all by ourselves.
Puerto America (Cadiz)
We were keen to spend a couple of days in the 3000 year old city of Cadiz. We could have done this by ferry from Rota or Santa Maria, but the last ferries left the town at 8pm, so we would have been unable to experience the nightlife of the city. Instead we approached this marina with some trepidation, as the pilot book could not have been more negative about its charms! It is true that it is in the middle of a building site, and the toilet block is some distance from the visitors berths, but it is cheap, half empty and only a 10 minute walk to the start of the old city and the bus station, with good connections to many other cities. We were very pleased to be here, as within a day our friends Davy and Kate from Roamer had joined us, and the wind started howling out of the Straits of Gibraltar, which it has now done for 7 days making any further progress east very uncomfortable if not nearly impossible. The wind in the Gibraltar straits , gateway to the Med, blows hard either west or east 300 out of 360 days. We couldn’t have been delayed in a nicer place though, and we managed a few trips out on the bus, to Seville again, and to Santa Maria on a day when it was open (and very pleasant!) and many days of wandering the endless ancient streets of Cadiz. Cadiz is one of the oldest cities in Spain and every kind of architecture from roman to new is crammed on the small peninsula. It is an incredible sight, plenty of decaying buildings as a result of the limestone used to build and it’s weakness to the attack of the salt air. There is more restoration going on in this tiny area than I have ever seen. A huge effort to shore up and preserve the front facades whilst completely rebuilding the insides of ancient apartment blocks and historic buildings will ensure that this special city retains its special character for future generations. Steph: My Spanish is coming on really well, as long as I don’t have to speak to anyone or to understand anything said to me! If we could communicate in writing we would get along just fine…… It’s not helped by the Andalusian accent, which doesn’t include most of the consonants at the end of the words!
While we were enjoying a glass of something cold during a shopping trip one day in Cadiz, we heard lots of car horns and shouting and everyone seemed to be sporting the same yellow scarf. It transpired that this was a parade of cars and people announcing a general strike in the bar of Cadiz the following day. A huge motor parts factory – Delphi - had just gone into liquidation, and the strike appeared to be in support of the workers who had been laid off that day. We were prepared for disruption the next day, and unavailability of transport and services as you would expect in a general strike, but the day of the strike was supported by all workers in the area. Not a single bar, café, shop, office was open for the whole day. A few dispirited tourists wandered the deserted shopping streets, filled with uncollected rubbish. If they were in self-catering accommodation, they had no chance of anything to eat, no entertainment, not a single bar in which to rest. It was a phenomenal display of solidarity amongst the businesses, all content to forego a days business and pay to show their support of the Delphi workers – although to what gain it was we’re not so sure. The small Carrefour supermarket, being French and therefore disinterested opened for a few hours and we were able to stock up on a few supplies, such as beer, wine, vodka and bread! As there were no bars open in which to rest our weary legs, we just perched ourselves outside the supermarket for a little rest, and had a small can of beer to toast the cause!
At the moment we are waiting for the break in the weather to allow us to get to Barbate to await the right tide and wind to enter the straits. It is interesting to note that a lot of cruisers (many of whom do not seem to leave the marina in Lagos) advised us to lay up in a marina for the winter by November, but at that time, the weather was very benign and settled for 3 months until February. Since we have escaped and been on the move again, it has been the most unsettled weather that we have seen, as fronts and lows track across the south of the peninsula.
Gibraltar marinas are allegedly full so we don’t yet know if we will be able to stop there or not. We also plan a visit to Ceuta – a small Spanish enclave in Morocco just across the narrow bit of the straits, before tracking as quickly as possible along the Costas to the Balearics. (23 April 2007).
Gibraltar
After a day delay leaving Barbate for the easterly to cease, we poked our nose round the edge of the massive tunny net (Fixed Tuna nets forming about a 4 mile funnel across the bay, entrapping and coaxing schools of unsuspecting tuna – and dolphins - into the central trap where they are hauled out). We were headed in company with Roamer the 15 miles south to Tarifa and then east to Gibraltar. The 6 knot easterly that wafted around the coast south of Barbate developed to 23 knots off Tarifa but backed down to about 12 knots by Gib. The forecast was westerly but it just doesn’t always do what is expected. The land mass of Spain and Africa have huge influence on the weather systems here. Luckily an advance call had secured us the so called last berths in Gib marina and we were able to spend a few days exploring around. I can’t say it was fantastic and it was the first place we have seen drunken pub culture, the type that you know to keep one eye open for the start of a drunken fight, since leaving the UK.
The airport is alongside the marina, and when I say along side I do mean the Runway is about 100 yards from the moored boats and if there is an aircraft taking off or landing you are not allowed to go near the end of the runway as there is a real danger of a collision with a plane and a mast.
The thing that every tourist has to do in Gibraltar is go up the rock. Unfortunately the tourist hunters know it as well and they’re all there to take your cash and cart you there. 16 pounds will get you there by minibus, herded from point of interest to monkey to vantage point and back in about an hour, and they do try to sell you their trips. Less expensive is the cable car, at least allowing you the time you choose to spend, 8.50 Pounds each. We are not tight ( yes we are) but we found a route through the botanical gardens and up the road to the nature reserve toll gate, paid 50p for entrance and ascended the cliffs via the Mediterranean Steps, a route of some spectacular views around the south east face of the rock and up to the top. Don’t underestimate the climb though. It took us about 2 ½ hours and we could feel it for several days after. But we saw the monkeys and the views and even got ourselves locked in the top cable car / restaurant station when the Sunday shift went home for the day. We managed to climb around the locked gates and make our decent down the road this time and through the older parts of the city.
A day mooching round the shops where the girls stocked up with knickers and tinned meat from M&S and spirits and English stuff from Safeway’s (Now Morrison’s). Spirits were really cheap but wine is cheaper in Spain. 4 Jars of Vegemite, 500 teabags, Cheddar Cheese, Marmite, Diet Tonic, New Electric toothbrush, and 480 liters of diesel (30% cheaper than Spain) we were done with Gib.
16 miles south is Ceuta. A brisk 28 knots of Westerly wind and east going tide gave us a quick but heavy trip across the shipping lanes that reportedly carry 25% of the worlds shipping. Personally I think we have seen more on some trips across the English Channel but not so concentrated and arguably less watchful or willing to alter course a few degrees to go around a small sailing yacht.
Ceuta is a Spanish enclave on the north coast of Morocco and our first new continent. Being Spanish makes the paperwork easy so it was our choice and quite a good one. Although it’s duty free the prices seem about the same for food as Spain. I believe electronics are cheaper although the choice is much better in duty free Gib. The market just opposite the marina is cheap and had wonderful fish and meat. Some Moroccan influence is visible in the market but it is very clean and we enjoyed a few hours buying little hand made mince things and marinated chicken and fantastic vegetables. We found eating out lacking in choice a bit and had our first meal in a dry restaurant.
Tetouan, Morocco
Roamer caught us up again and with an Australian couple we had last seen in Cascais we decided on a trip into Morocco to Tetouan. Tetouan is about 40 miles over the border and a world apart from this Spanish enclave. Our trip started with a bus to the frontier and the unusual experience of form filling and officialdom associated with the border with Africa and Europe. Touts are everywhere and will sell you anything if you let them, even the official forms to hand over with your passport which are freely given to you by the passport control men. Once through the Spanish side we were encountered by the tour guides, helpful and full of information to help you through the border crossing and then offering assistance in an environment that is so different that it’s hard not to accept and so we did. The guide was courteous and arranged two taxis at 25 Euros return journey, explaining we must not pay them a penny till they delivered us back to the border in one piece. The journey took about 45 minutes to Tetouan. The taxis would not pass an MOT. There was a front seatbelt in one of them but the driver said it wasn’t necessary to put it on - actually there was no catch part so you couldn’t use it anyway. He kindly took the window winder off his door and put it in the back seat so the passengers could share it to adjust the airflow as required. We had to stop for diesel for the 1970s Mercedes but he refused to stop the engine whilst filling, presumably for fear of it not restarting. Our convoy of 2 screamed along past donkeys carrying loads and camels standing around, past road workers living in tents on the roadside and through road works indicated by big rocks placed in the road as warnings to swerve round.
Wow, what a place, streets often only a few feet wide and full of market stalls and little tiny rooms containing shoe makers, leather workers, bakers, clothes makers, you name it. Surprisingly there was virtually no arm grabbing and hassle to buy things( how much this would have happened without a guide we don’t know – on a couple of occasions he spoke a few sharp words to someone hanging around and they slunk off despondently!) . It seems that tourism really has not touched this place. It is all there for the people not for show. The honesty was amazing: One stall holder refused to sell me a chicken samosa as it was yesterdays and therefore not so safe for visitors to eat, presumably they are used to the bugs as he was quite happy to sell them to the locals. I bought a fresher one on the next stall to him whilst he simply smiled and said it was good I would like it better. We bought some spices and figs and others bought nuts and beans. Our guide became a little disappointed when we refused to buy carpets for the boats from one of the two tourist traps he took us to, the other being a Moroccan Pharmacy where we were dragged off for unwanted neck and back massages and then asked to ensure we tipped the masseur well. We did not and the guide was a little put out but we had tried to explain that we are not normal punters. By the end he got the message, possibly our purchases finally did the job of convincing him. Scraps of off-cuts of leather for anti chafe patches and meat mincer (the Aussie likes to make his own sausages).
The tannery was impressive, stinking pools of god knows what full of hides at various stages of fermentation, people in waders in yet more pools of dye and others scraping the unwanted fur off cow hides over an old log. This centuries-old industry thrived in the middle of the walled old city, 120,000 people living in homes, crammed with three generations of family, shared hosepipes in the alleys for water. In the alley to the tannery, amongst the wild cats were leather workers and oranges and vegetables piled on the ground, brought in from the mountains by little old wizened ladies, wooden crates of fish smoldered in the sun and old men sat drinking thick coffees and talking. The smells and sights, not all wonderful, almost overpowered your senses.
Lunch was in a lavishly decorated beautiful restaurant in the old town. Clearly there for the tourist as no locals were to be seen but the food was very Moroccan and probably more suitable to our unaccustomed digestive systems than some of the less classy establishments we would have no doubt chosen if the guide had not steered us in here ( for his commission no doubt). No women were seen in any café or restaurant in the town (other than the tourist traps). We were told that if we had entered them the 3 girls would have been refused service!! The guide spoke proudly of the tolerant nature of the people here and how they lived side by side; Jews and Muslims, synagogue next door to mosque. But it is a long way from Ceuta in terms of progress and desire to change and be part of the modern world – although they were quite happy to take Euros from us at Spanish prices for their goods in the tourist traps!
5 hours after arriving the taxis were waiting for us and we were duly delivered back to the border and they were paid. Probably their lucky day judging by the number of taxies parked in huge ranks on the way to the frontier that obviously had not had work that day. The guide was paid and a small tip on top and after a reminder of do’s and don’ts for crossing the border he was off. We all agreed that the 35 Euros for the guide was worthwhile on the first trip but now we were seasoned Moroccan day trippers we would go independent next time and take our chances.
Our arrival in Ayamonte co-incided happily with Semana Santa or Holy Week. The week is celebrated by a series of processions day and night throughout every Spanish town and village. After watching one of the processions from one of the 9 churches in the town of Ayamonte, which doesn’t even warrant its own sentence in the Rough Guide to Spain, we were so impressed with the spectacle that we hatched a plan to go and see Semana Santa in ‘the’ place to see it – Seville. It’s widely reputed that the only accommodation left in Seville in Holy Week is exceptionally expensive, so we planned to travel up by bus (2 hours) in the afternoon of Maundy Thursday, stay up all night as the Spanish do anyway, and travel back the following day. We put a few essentials in a small rucksack and set off on an adventure.
An overland intermission in Seville (Maundy Thursday)
On arrival in Seville it soon became apparent that the best bet was just to follow the streams of people who clearly knew where to head for to see the next procession. It was a great night, interspersed by warm-ups in bars with a few tapas to see us through the night. A hotel would certainly have been a waste of money, as we wouldn’t have seen much of it!
It was lovely to see so many people, many of them teenagers and young adults, genuinely enjoying the spectacle of their religion. As each pasos (processional float) passed by, a reverent hush would descend on the crowd. We walked miles and stood for hours.
One procession we viewed had a full 1,700 participants slowly moving past in various religious costumes from the tall pointed hat brigade to fully armed roman centurion outfits, feathers galore. Daybreak seemed to arrive very quickly. All the kids were still up, in or following the processions, all well behaved, not a single drunk seen all night despite all the bars still being open. We left on the 10am bus, halfway through the 12 hour procession that had started at 2am and would not finish until lunchtime. Despite the rigors of being on their feet all this time, and lugging around heavy (1 Ton) pasos, and the band having been marching and playing throughout the parade and still with 3 hours to go, they were all in remarkably good spirits. For us it was time to take the bus back to Ayamonte for sleep.
‘Holy Week in Seville
Seville arguably holds some of the most elaborate processions for Holy Week. A tradition that dates from Counterreformation times, or even earlier. The "Semana Santa en Sevilla" is notable for featuring the procession of "pasos", lifelike wood sculptures of individual scenes of the events that happened between Jesus' entry in Jerusalem and his burial, or images of the Virgin Mary showing restained grief for the torture and killing of her son. Some of the images are of great antiquity and artistic masterworks. These "pasos" (which usually weigh over a metric tonne) are physically carried on the neck of costaleros (literally "sack men", for its distinctive -and functional- headdress). The "costaleros" (from 24 to 48) are hidden inside the platform of the "paso", so it seems to walk alone. Historically dock workers were hired to carry the "pasos". From 1973 onward, that task has been universally taken over by the members of the confraternities who organize each procession.
The "pasos" are set up and maintained by hermandades and cofradías, religious brotherhoods, confraternities or sodalities, which precede the "pasos" (up to 3) dressed in penitential robes. Some of the processions are near 3000 persons each. In Seville, but for some officials, "costaleros", acolytes and a few other exceptions every participant must wear penitential robes and be hooded. A brass band may accompany the group, playing funereal religious hymns or "marchas" written for the occasion. Some processions are silent with no musical accompaniment. As each procession leaves its home church, called a salida, as well at its return (the entrada) and along the march route there are special extemporaneous songs offered by individuals in the crowd or a balcony. These songs are generically called saetas (arrows).
A total of 58 processions (as of 2007) occur during the week, from Palm Sunday through Easter Sunday morning. On Maundy Thursday there are two sets of processions. One group occurs during the afternoon and evening. The second set begins near midnight and continues until early afternoon on Good Friday. The most famous processions occur this night (the madrugá), including Jesus del Gran Poder, Esperanza - Macarena, and Esperanza - Triana.’
After all the excitement, we returned to Ayamonte to watch the smaller, but nonetheless elaborate processions over the weekend culminating in the colourful and upbeat Easter Sunday parade, where the penitents are not hooded and the ladies join the parade in traditional Andalucian headdresses.
We were ready to move on, having decided to enjoy the Costa de Luz for a while, which is reported to be the last delightful stretch of Spain before the Costas del Sol and Blanca, with glorious beaches around towns that still retain some of their original character.
Isla Christina/Isla Canela
Our first trip was just a few miles up the coast to free us from the tide constraints of the shallows outside Ayamonte. We approached Isla Christina marina, but were told that we were 40cm too long for their marina!!! We went across to Isla Canela in the same harbor, which is an up market apartment complex with absolutely no character at all. At least it was cheap. Just could not wait to get out of there!
Chipiona
Next day we motored 50 miles in desperation to get to Chipiona. When we arrived, I thought that maybe all the people had been abducted by aliens – it was so quiet that nothing stirred! We stayed a couple of days here while we sorted out the phone, and did some shopping. It is a long and boring walk into the town. Once there, it was pleasant enough, the bars cheap and not too touristy. The beaches were lovely, and it had an air of a once popular tourist destination that has got lost along the way and is in a sleepy decline.
Rota
We were soon ready for a move, and 15 miles to Rota was not too strenuous.
Rota is at the north end of the Bay of Cadiz, and is better known for the huge US Naval and air force base opposite the marina. Once inside the marina, the only evidence of the base, was a few helicopter and planes overhead, but they were not too much of a distraction. The old town is lovely in the daytime, with a happy, Spanish feel to it. There’s plenty of shopping and bars to be enjoyed, and a very traditional bodega where you can sample all sorts of sherry from barrels at 40 cents a go. At night however the town was full of loud yanks, drinking and showing off their cars and stereos to young Spanish girls.
There is a chain of government run marinas through Andalucía, (www.eppa.es) which are very cheap (€13.50 per night) and our choice of stop is largely determined by the availability of these marinas at the moment, particularly given our experience the next day….
El Puerto de Santa Maria
Across the Bay of Cadiz we visited a private yacht-club for a change. It was lovely, although in a state of decay. There is a swimming pool there (empty) and tennis courts (full) and a bar on the river (very nice). The town was closed for the afternoon (Saturday), although it was very pleasant. It is where the sherry is brought down from Jerez to be stored and shipped. Fortunately all the bodegas were closed so we couldn’t get into trouble!! The downside of this place is the price - €35 per night – the most expensive yet of the whole trip. The friendly marinero(captain of the port), clearly felt sorry for us paupers, and gave us some freshly caught fish for our supper! And some advice on how to save some marina fee money (by lying!) which we will take up at later opportunities.
We moved to a heavenly anchorage to the west of the river entrance and stayed for free – enjoying the tranquility after all the other boats had gone back to their marinas, leaving us to enjoy the views of the bay all by ourselves.
We were keen to spend a couple of days in the 3000 year old city of Cadiz. We could have done this by ferry from Rota or Santa Maria, but the last ferries left the town at 8pm, so we would have been unable to experience the nightlife of the city. Instead we approached this marina with some trepidation, as the pilot book could not have been more negative about its charms! It is true that it is in the middle of a building site, and the toilet block is some distance from the visitors berths, but it is cheap, half empty and only a 10 minute walk to the start of the old city and the bus station, with good connections to many other cities. We were very pleased to be here, as within a day our friends Davy and Kate from Roamer had joined us, and the wind started howling out of the Straits of Gibraltar, which it has now done for 7 days making any further progress east very uncomfortable if not nearly impossible. The wind in the Gibraltar straits , gateway to the Med, blows hard either west or east 300 out of 360 days. We couldn’t have been delayed in a nicer place though, and we managed a few trips out on the bus, to Seville again, and to Santa Maria on a day when it was open (and very pleasant!) and many days of wandering the endless ancient streets of Cadiz. Cadiz is one of the oldest cities in Spain and every kind of architecture from roman to new is crammed on the small peninsula. It is an incredible sight, plenty of decaying buildings as a result of the limestone used to build and it’s weakness to the attack of the salt air. There is more restoration going on in this tiny area than I have ever seen. A huge effort to shore up and preserve the front facades whilst completely rebuilding the insides of ancient apartment blocks and historic buildings will ensure that this special city retains its special character for future generations. Steph: My Spanish is coming on really well, as long as I don’t have to speak to anyone or to understand anything said to me! If we could communicate in writing we would get along just fine…… It’s not helped by the Andalusian accent, which doesn’t include most of the consonants at the end of the words!
While we were enjoying a glass of something cold during a shopping trip one day in Cadiz, we heard lots of car horns and shouting and everyone seemed to be sporting the same yellow scarf. It transpired that this was a parade of cars and people announcing a general strike in the bar of Cadiz the following day. A huge motor parts factory – Delphi - had just gone into liquidation, and the strike appeared to be in support of the workers who had been laid off that day. We were prepared for disruption the next day, and unavailability of transport and services as you would expect in a general strike, but the day of the strike was supported by all workers in the area. Not a single bar, café, shop, office was open for the whole day. A few dispirited tourists wandered the deserted shopping streets, filled with uncollected rubbish. If they were in self-catering accommodation, they had no chance of anything to eat, no entertainment, not a single bar in which to rest. It was a phenomenal display of solidarity amongst the businesses, all content to forego a days business and pay to show their support of the Delphi workers – although to what gain it was we’re not so sure. The small Carrefour supermarket, being French and therefore disinterested opened for a few hours and we were able to stock up on a few supplies, such as beer, wine, vodka and bread! As there were no bars open in which to rest our weary legs, we just perched ourselves outside the supermarket for a little rest, and had a small can of beer to toast the cause!
At the moment we are waiting for the break in the weather to allow us to get to Barbate to await the right tide and wind to enter the straits. It is interesting to note that a lot of cruisers (many of whom do not seem to leave the marina in Lagos) advised us to lay up in a marina for the winter by November, but at that time, the weather was very benign and settled for 3 months until February. Since we have escaped and been on the move again, it has been the most unsettled weather that we have seen, as fronts and lows track across the south of the peninsula.
Gibraltar marinas are allegedly full so we don’t yet know if we will be able to stop there or not. We also plan a visit to Ceuta – a small Spanish enclave in Morocco just across the narrow bit of the straits, before tracking as quickly as possible along the Costas to the Balearics. (23 April 2007).
Gibraltar
After a day delay leaving Barbate for the easterly to cease, we poked our nose round the edge of the massive tunny net (Fixed Tuna nets forming about a 4 mile funnel across the bay, entrapping and coaxing schools of unsuspecting tuna – and dolphins - into the central trap where they are hauled out). We were headed in company with Roamer the 15 miles south to Tarifa and then east to Gibraltar. The 6 knot easterly that wafted around the coast south of Barbate developed to 23 knots off Tarifa but backed down to about 12 knots by Gib. The forecast was westerly but it just doesn’t always do what is expected. The land mass of Spain and Africa have huge influence on the weather systems here. Luckily an advance call had secured us the so called last berths in Gib marina and we were able to spend a few days exploring around. I can’t say it was fantastic and it was the first place we have seen drunken pub culture, the type that you know to keep one eye open for the start of a drunken fight, since leaving the UK.
The airport is alongside the marina, and when I say along side I do mean the Runway is about 100 yards from the moored boats and if there is an aircraft taking off or landing you are not allowed to go near the end of the runway as there is a real danger of a collision with a plane and a mast.
The thing that every tourist has to do in Gibraltar is go up the rock. Unfortunately the tourist hunters know it as well and they’re all there to take your cash and cart you there. 16 pounds will get you there by minibus, herded from point of interest to monkey to vantage point and back in about an hour, and they do try to sell you their trips. Less expensive is the cable car, at least allowing you the time you choose to spend, 8.50 Pounds each. We are not tight ( yes we are) but we found a route through the botanical gardens and up the road to the nature reserve toll gate, paid 50p for entrance and ascended the cliffs via the Mediterranean Steps, a route of some spectacular views around the south east face of the rock and up to the top. Don’t underestimate the climb though. It took us about 2 ½ hours and we could feel it for several days after. But we saw the monkeys and the views and even got ourselves locked in the top cable car / restaurant station when the Sunday shift went home for the day. We managed to climb around the locked gates and make our decent down the road this time and through the older parts of the city.
A day mooching round the shops where the girls stocked up with knickers and tinned meat from M&S and spirits and English stuff from Safeway’s (Now Morrison’s). Spirits were really cheap but wine is cheaper in Spain. 4 Jars of Vegemite, 500 teabags, Cheddar Cheese, Marmite, Diet Tonic, New Electric toothbrush, and 480 liters of diesel (30% cheaper than Spain) we were done with Gib.
16 miles south is Ceuta. A brisk 28 knots of Westerly wind and east going tide gave us a quick but heavy trip across the shipping lanes that reportedly carry 25% of the worlds shipping. Personally I think we have seen more on some trips across the English Channel but not so concentrated and arguably less watchful or willing to alter course a few degrees to go around a small sailing yacht.
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| Sailing south from the rock across the straits on a typical lively | day |
Tetouan, Morocco
Roamer caught us up again and with an Australian couple we had last seen in Cascais we decided on a trip into Morocco to Tetouan. Tetouan is about 40 miles over the border and a world apart from this Spanish enclave. Our trip started with a bus to the frontier and the unusual experience of form filling and officialdom associated with the border with Africa and Europe. Touts are everywhere and will sell you anything if you let them, even the official forms to hand over with your passport which are freely given to you by the passport control men. Once through the Spanish side we were encountered by the tour guides, helpful and full of information to help you through the border crossing and then offering assistance in an environment that is so different that it’s hard not to accept and so we did. The guide was courteous and arranged two taxis at 25 Euros return journey, explaining we must not pay them a penny till they delivered us back to the border in one piece. The journey took about 45 minutes to Tetouan. The taxis would not pass an MOT. There was a front seatbelt in one of them but the driver said it wasn’t necessary to put it on - actually there was no catch part so you couldn’t use it anyway. He kindly took the window winder off his door and put it in the back seat so the passengers could share it to adjust the airflow as required. We had to stop for diesel for the 1970s Mercedes but he refused to stop the engine whilst filling, presumably for fear of it not restarting. Our convoy of 2 screamed along past donkeys carrying loads and camels standing around, past road workers living in tents on the roadside and through road works indicated by big rocks placed in the road as warnings to swerve round.
Wow, what a place, streets often only a few feet wide and full of market stalls and little tiny rooms containing shoe makers, leather workers, bakers, clothes makers, you name it. Surprisingly there was virtually no arm grabbing and hassle to buy things( how much this would have happened without a guide we don’t know – on a couple of occasions he spoke a few sharp words to someone hanging around and they slunk off despondently!) . It seems that tourism really has not touched this place. It is all there for the people not for show. The honesty was amazing: One stall holder refused to sell me a chicken samosa as it was yesterdays and therefore not so safe for visitors to eat, presumably they are used to the bugs as he was quite happy to sell them to the locals. I bought a fresher one on the next stall to him whilst he simply smiled and said it was good I would like it better. We bought some spices and figs and others bought nuts and beans. Our guide became a little disappointed when we refused to buy carpets for the boats from one of the two tourist traps he took us to, the other being a Moroccan Pharmacy where we were dragged off for unwanted neck and back massages and then asked to ensure we tipped the masseur well. We did not and the guide was a little put out but we had tried to explain that we are not normal punters. By the end he got the message, possibly our purchases finally did the job of convincing him. Scraps of off-cuts of leather for anti chafe patches and meat mincer (the Aussie likes to make his own sausages).
The tannery was impressive, stinking pools of god knows what full of hides at various stages of fermentation, people in waders in yet more pools of dye and others scraping the unwanted fur off cow hides over an old log. This centuries-old industry thrived in the middle of the walled old city, 120,000 people living in homes, crammed with three generations of family, shared hosepipes in the alleys for water. In the alley to the tannery, amongst the wild cats were leather workers and oranges and vegetables piled on the ground, brought in from the mountains by little old wizened ladies, wooden crates of fish smoldered in the sun and old men sat drinking thick coffees and talking. The smells and sights, not all wonderful, almost overpowered your senses.
Lunch was in a lavishly decorated beautiful restaurant in the old town. Clearly there for the tourist as no locals were to be seen but the food was very Moroccan and probably more suitable to our unaccustomed digestive systems than some of the less classy establishments we would have no doubt chosen if the guide had not steered us in here ( for his commission no doubt). No women were seen in any café or restaurant in the town (other than the tourist traps). We were told that if we had entered them the 3 girls would have been refused service!! The guide spoke proudly of the tolerant nature of the people here and how they lived side by side; Jews and Muslims, synagogue next door to mosque. But it is a long way from Ceuta in terms of progress and desire to change and be part of the modern world – although they were quite happy to take Euros from us at Spanish prices for their goods in the tourist traps!
5 hours after arriving the taxis were waiting for us and we were duly delivered back to the border and they were paid. Probably their lucky day judging by the number of taxies parked in huge ranks on the way to the frontier that obviously had not had work that day. The guide was paid and a small tip on top and after a reminder of do’s and don’ts for crossing the border he was off. We all agreed that the 35 Euros for the guide was worthwhile on the first trip but now we were seasoned Moroccan day trippers we would go independent next time and take our chances.
