Perhaps one too many copo de vihno tinto, we felt a tad seedy this morning. The magnificent sunrise view from our window helped get us going though.
We had arranged for a car to take us to Sintra, so we got organized and out the door by 10. Lovely chap with excellent English drove us down the Coast stopping at Carcais - a pretty beach side town which must have lots of British expats from the number of English bars - and Cabo da Rica, the most Westerly point of Europe, some 10 kilometers more west than Finisterre. Finisterre feels more like the end of the continent though. After admiring the dramatic views of the coast, we headed off along an impossibly narrow road up to the Pena Palace, perched high on mount Sintra. Sure is a unique creation, monastry meets Disney, a dizzying collection of different styles. Grand Designs on steroids. It was super crowded on a lovely Saturday afternoon, lots of Portuguese and lots of tourists.
After a squeezy shuttle bus ride, we headed down to explore the pretty village of Sintra. A bit like Ravello, it would probably be a nice place to spend a few days. It was filled with Portuguese people having a relaxed afternoon eating pastry and drinking beer, which seem to be important national customs.
We retreated home after that, and after a rest headed out again to get Via Viagem cards - the stored value travel cards - for tomorrow. These cards have proved to be an intelligence test which so far I have failed abysmally. But hopefully I have finally cracked it and the Lisbon public transport system will be at our disposal.
Another early morning wake up as the body clock slowly adjusts, which is good as I get to go for a walk in the early morning light before the hordes swarm the streets. I walked around Baxia with it's magnificent edifices and swanky shops, down to the bottom of the Santa Justa elevator, back up to Sao Roche. Beautiful light after rain.
We set off early to catch the tram to Belem. Tram was a squeezy experience filled with tourists and a few hapless locals. There are a number of museums located within the Jeronimos Monastery there. The archaeological museum had some beautiful roman marble statues dug from what was once a wealthy Romans holiday Villa, and a great treasury. The big event at the monastery though is the cloyster of the monastery itself. Never seen anything quite like that before, such an extraordinary profusion of wonderfully carved detail that the eye doesn't know where to look. Gaudi may well have drawn some inspiration from it.
After marvelling at the choir and the refectory we visited the maritime museum, and it's temporary Viking exhibit. Interesting but maybe our wonder nerves had become overloaded.
Got home via another hyper crowded tram, and another visit to the Beer Museum, after which we needed to sit in a darkened room for a while to settle down.
Once we had recovered we visited the top of the Santa Justa elevator tower, enjoyed it's splendid views but not so much the vertiginous spiral staircase, caught the lift down, walked to the waterfront in time to see the QE2 slide massively past, found a nice restaurant for dinner, then stumbled home via the supermarket. I think Lisbon is right up there in my best European capital rankings.
Thanks to the time zone difference and my body's refusal to believe that it was dark outside and the middle of the night, l was wide awake at 3.30 am. I pottered around for a few hours, working out how the coffee machine and the lights operate, the woke up Anne and we went for a walk up the hill to the Gardens then back past the Convent of Sao Pedro de Alcantara, before winding through the Barrio Alto with it's maze of tiny cobbled streets. Lots of bars and lots of empty drink containers and bottles. Party town. It was rubbish collection morning and we had to squeeze past as the huge rubbish truck and gang of guys came noisesomely past. Rubbish wise the street looked about 85 percent better where they had been.
After breakfast we headed down to Rossio. Lisbon we have found to be a city of surprises, most of them nice ones so far. Without a lot of expectation we visited the church of St James, Sao Domingo, to pay our respects. Walking through the door, expecting just another church, the interior is like nothing I have ever seen. Opened in 1241, the church was damaged in each of the earthquakes in 1531 and 1755, then gutted by fire in 1959 . The restoration has replaced the roof with what looks like pink granite, left completely unadorned, while the walls are blackened chipped stone. Extraordinarily beautiful and impressive.
Another thing we have noticed about Lisbon is how terrible the available maps are. Every corner seems to have bewildered looking tourists earnestly consulting maps or guide books. Anne's theory is that this is designed the provide some comic relief to the beleaguered locals as compensation for being in undated by hordes of tourists.
Whatever, we joined the ranks of the confused and the lost as we blundered around trying to find the Fado museum. Fado is a unique Portuguese style of music which they are very serious about here. There are Fado bars everywhere and some of the singers are national heros. Fascinating museum, and almost empty as most people couldn't find it.
After a hot stump back through dusty building works we discovered the Museum of Beer on the Praca Comercio, and sampled some of it's reviving exhibits along with lunch, then threaded our way back home for a jet lag induced nap. And that was about it for us for the day.
Today's pic is a wall of the convent facing a grungy graffitied. Laneway in Barrio Alto, with its 1752 tile work just out there unprotected. It would be in a glass case in a gallery surrounded by security guards in Australia.
Around thirty six hours door to door, and we are transplanted to an apartment in the Chiado district of Lisbon, trading the creeping icy grey cold of Melbourne with all its comforting familiarity for the warm sunshine and strangeness of what is for us a whole new place.
Getting here is an epic, a good reminder that the world is a mighty big place. First leg featured an infant who did not enjoy flying and who protested loudly for an extraordinarily long time about it. Second leg got some sleep, enjoyed some great Spanish coffee and boccadillos at Madrid, before climbing into the last plane which creaked, clattered and wheezed it's way to Lisbon. A very dignified older gentleman - who had retired from working on cruise ships and who knew Melbourne well - drove us in his lovingly cared for taxi driver to the bottom of the narrow street in which our accommodation is located, and we schleped the last bit past little bars and peeling buildings with balconies festooned with washing and rugs.
While we waited for our place to be ready, we had lunch out one of the outdoor restaurants strategically located on the steep steps leading up to the Bairro Alto, and while we ate off a table sloping down hill at about 10 degrees (which works sort of like a George Foreman grill as all oil runs to one side of the plate) we watched tourists puffing up or creaking down the incline. A lot of arthritic knees in the touring population based on our observations.
Feeling a bit stunned we didn't do much exploring. A swim in the pool, a shuffle down the hill to find a supermarket (don't go near dinner time as it gets really busy in there), a quiet supper of cheese and bread and a nice little bottle of red watching the swallows swooping across the evening sky, before crashing just as it was getting dark.
Picture shows Anne caught in the act leaving a Pasteleria in a street in Rossio clutching two of the little custard tarts which the Portuguese seem to eat a lot of. The beginning of the stairs back up the hill are visible at the end of the street. I predict we might be eating a few of those tarts to fuel our hill climbing in the days to come.
The last week in March my brother Brian and I lined up a charter yacht on the Gippsland Lakes.
After a long drive down there, we could sleep on the boat for the night, and found that due to a bung heat exchanger and forecast gale, we would not be taking the boat out the next day. The charter people very kindly refunded us the cost of the day, so we explored the region, searching for a pair of XL pyjamas as somehow this critical piece of kit had been overlooked in the packing.
We arrived back in Metung just in time to see the South Westerly gale sweep in and enjoy a pleasant meal at the pub watching the rain and the wind outside.
Next morning, we sailed for a while, in variable light winds, tacking back and forth, making very slow progress towards Raymond Island. We had bacon and eggs for lunch while drifting slowly in the sun off Point Scott, possibly the best bacon and eggs ever, then we fired up the diesel and motored through the Aurora Channel and up the Bunga Arm. We nosed the boat into a deserted beach, walked over to the 90 mile beach, which was deserted for as many of its 90 miles as we could see, then retired to the boat to watch the spectacular sunset, then the brilliant display of the clear night sky.
In the morning, after a swim off the back of the boat, and taking advantage of the nifty shower on the back step, and then more bacon and eggs, we retraced our track then headed into Paynesville, to stock up on a few supplies. Paynesville looked pretty nice in the morning sun. Yet another Southwesterly gale was forecast for the evening, so we consulted the book provided on safe spots for gales, and headed over to a swing mooring up Duck Arm. Picked one up no problems, and spent a peaceful afternoon. The gale hit about midnight with lots of unidentified sounds of heavy objects thumping on the cabin roof, wind wailing in the rigging, and boat jumping about, but it settled down after a few hours, and we were up in the early dawn to a wonderful clear morning.
We slipped the mooring and ghosted out, and began the nicest sail of the trip, which turned into a rollicking good broad reach and run down to Shaving Point, as the wind built up. We went back to the Riviera Nautic dock for a refill of water, a shower and a coffee, then sailed over to Boxes Creek nearby, nosing into the beach there.
The boat makes a fantastic bird hide. While we were sitting in the cockpit, a small hawk swooped down and attempted to carry off one of the neighbouring ducks. A huge amount of sqwarking and flapping ensued, with outraged swans flapping and hissing and ducks scattering in all directions, before one rather bedraggled but very lucky duck escaped and one hungry hawk flew off to look for lunch elsewhere. In the early morning, I discovered that the beach is phosphorescent, with a light like a torch appearing in an outline around your foot with each step.
We managed not to hit anything, not to run aground. We didn't go that far - about 64 nautical miles, and we didn't go that fast - max about 6 knots - but it was a really relaxing and enjoyable trip. The Lakes are a beautiful place to sail - good Mirror exploring territory if I can wangle it somehow.
I learned - through many omissions and mistakes - a few things about recording a trip like this on video. I will do better next time.
A lovely warm light wind Sunday morning, so I got up early and schlepped the Mirror down to the launching spot by Altona YC. When I got down there, a chap with a Mirror on a road trailer plus two young sons was already there. The Mirror had been sitting in a garage for many years, and had arrived from his brother the day before. The kids were so keen to go sailing they were up at 5.00. You have to admire that sort of enthusiasm.
I helped get their boat in the water, then managed to get a few photos before they sailed off.
I headed off eastwards, then when I was away from the madding crowds, I dropped the sails and anchored in about two metre deep water. I have put a stirrup on the back of Peregrina as I remember even twenty years ago I was pretty hopeless at getting back into a Mirror from the water. Took a bit of adjusting, but if I tie the stirrup so my foot goes against the rudder, I can get back in. Not elegant, and I would really not like to be doing it in a chop, but I can do it, with a few scrapes and bruises.
I sat in the sun with the boat bobbing at anchor and had early lunch and a thermos of tea while I dried off a bit, then I pulled in the anchor (how did I manage to get the line so tangled so quickly ?) then headed off to explore the shallow waters at the entrance to Koroit Creek. Tide was falling so I didnt get too far before I was aground, even with the centre board up. Headed back, and as I approached the Altona boat ramp, yet another Mirror bravely sailed and paddled out of the sheltered harbour mouth. Almost no wind so I rowed while he paddled, then the wind came back and I chased him but could not make any ground on him. We were sailing at pretty much the same speed, about 3.5 knots according to my GPS. I gave up, headed back home, and as I was putting the boat back on the trolley I saw the sails heading back into the marina. Another young dad with a young son and daughter. A crack crew, I sure couldn't catch them. The sail number was 57 thousand and something - a close relative of Peregrina 57868 - but in much better condition.
I resolved today to simplify things a bit, less sundry stuff in the boat, and take off the bits of string that I don't need. When I took the boat apart, I saw that one of the "P" rings that secure the rudder had bent almost straight - probably when I was reboarding. I small price to pay to get back in the boat, but annoying non the less.
