I think it is safe for the cat to escape the bag. The mystery location that I have mysteriously arrived in is the glorious collection of Islands called the Seychelles. The journey was uneventful, there was a boat ceremony which involved throwing days old rotting food at people who have not been across the equator. Naturally I declined such an offer and barricaded myself in my cabin. It was bought to my attention the very next day that I missed a centuries old custom. I may not be centuries old, yet but I do have some sense of dignity which is still very intact., silly me.
I was asked to give a hand outside when we came into port. I had not been outside for a few days, usually going outside for me entails going up a mast or something equally exciting. The warm clime and stunning water was definitely a tonic for the soul.
Thankfully our owner visited the next day throwing us into disarray and chaos that only a Boss visit can provide. The highlight of the trip for me was getting my epaulettes. Not only are my epaulettes three striped works of art they have lightning bolts which are a nice nod to my internet handle. Thanks universe for that bit of magic.
I am not at liberty to discuss any details of the trip but I would like to say that when I become incredibly rich I do not want a huge entourage just a man that makes me cups of tea. A tea man if you will.
With our boss departing just as soon he he arrived we got a day off yesterday. I spent my day doing Dan things. With the pocket battler departing us this weekend I have been preparing a selection of tunes to play at his farewell. There is a a quite nice bar that is very close and we have schmoozed the manager quite sufficiently.
Other than that, I wont go on to much about how warm it is or how beautiful things are or even how our Captain is going to move the boat out to anchor this week so we can go for a swim under the guise of testing equipment.
Having a quite rigid employment contract means I have to be quite vague about where I am going and can only really write about where I have been long after I have left. This is not how I am used to doing things but so be it.
I can safely announce that I have been to Salahah in Oman. If Salahah is on your list of destinations to visit I am happy to inform that the locals are very friendly and make better taxis than the taxis. There is a wonderful Seamans club called the Oasis which is like an RSL or Golf Club house. It quite literally is an Oasis.
Where to from here?
Well South, South and more South. About four days of South. I shall traverse the Equator for my first time on a vessel and will end up somewhere tropical. I am certain it will be very topical.
It’s been a while since I really complained about something in earnest. On my most recent journey of some length I travelled with British Airways. I am not sure about you but I have not heard many complimentary things about British Airways in my lifetime. Luckily for me my trip home was with British Airways from Barcelona to London to Singapore to Sydney. In Sydney I swapped over to Qantas and I have never been so happy to straddle a Kangaroo.
When I first mentioned my trip on British Airways a few of my crew members were only to happy to tell me what a great Airline BA is. It is worth noting that these crew members all hail from the UK. It is also worth noting that I was more than happy with most of my travel experience. My problems all stemmed from the cabin service.
I have some theories on the dire service that was apparent and I think the main problem are character traits of the English and their endless propensity for drinking. Having spent a fair bit of time with Sam recently I thought it would be quite fortifying to have a few drinks in the Barcelona airport. Unlike the rest of Barcelona the only drinks I could find there were beer and wine. Having picked up a weird ailment which renders me allergic to beer and being still shy of red wine I settled on a glass of blanco. I then noticed on the first leg that although the plane was very empty the flight attendants seemed almost shy to offer alcohol to us. Every other international airline I have travelled with literally throw alcohol at you. BA has learned that throwing alcohol at the English is a bad idea. Especially if they are flying.
When I reached Heathrow I saw the very familiar English pubs that Heathrow is full of. I was reminded again of the genetic English imperative to drink heavily before, after and during all occasions. On the second leg to Singapore I got very hungry. On other Airlines there always seem to be service staff looking to help. However there were large tracts of my trip to Singapore where I wondered if the cabin staff were still onboard. There didn’t seem to be any snack service and meal time seemed to be dictated by how many gaunt passengers were awake looking expectantly around like dogs who had lost their owners.
On the third leg my increasingly exacerbated features were enough for me to get two breakfasts. Having been in the same plane for two legs I noticed how dirty the wings of the plane were. Maybe my time as Deckhand has damaged my brain but I can not remember seeing a plane with dirtier wings outside of a sandpit. The entertainment on the fight was also hamstrung. Serving up large advertisements before every selection and not a hell of a lot of to watch. Emirates had a more sophisticated system 5 years ago.
In BA’s defense we did arrive everywhere on time and my luggage arrived in Auckland. Maybe 30 hours of travelling just made me tetchy. I do have a solution for BA. It involves placing all English passport holders in the hold with the geese and other animals. This will free up cabin space for the more discerning travelers and everyone will be happy. Except for the English, but lets face it. They never are.
Housekeeping
I have had some feedback from a reader that I spend a lot of the time writing about drinking alcohol. I am sorry if this concerns you but in the paraphrased words of another reader.“I am a sailor and a writer so I am doubly fucked when it comes to booze” and believe me when I say I am what is considered a very light drinker only drinking once a week and sometimes not at all.
This time next week I will be in the throws of high velocity suitcase transportation. I am taking a very well deserved break and going home. By the time I leave Barcelona I will not have had a holiday for about 15 months. That is a quite a long stretch and it is safe to say I have really just been hanging on in there for a while.
I have noticed a few interesting things since I have had my holiday approved. The first thing is my iron clad immune system has already taken a holiday with me getting quite sick this week. I even had a sick day on Thursday, the first I have had since I started working on boats.
The second thing is more of a feeling. Along with the obvious excitement I feel quite odd about going home. What is this oddness? Well I expect it shall be explained in full when I have been home for a few days. My worst nightmare is that I return home to find New Zealand run by talking apes and its people enslaved and dumb.
Last weekend I was lucky enough to take a weekend trip to Port Aventura, a large and sprawling theme park about an hour and a half east of Barcelona. I was doubly luck to be able to tag along with Sam and Nancy. Sam if you remember is my quintessential English friend who loves kebabs, booze and dispensing with pearls of wisdom. Nancy is his diamond, the foil to his sometimes odd ways.
I began this micro adventure on Saturday after a Friday evening watching over my 80 meter baby. Sam and Nancy were indisposed at 10am and suggested we leave at 12. I found an open Irish pub and skyped home to a Christmas party full of my friends. This is the first time in two years that I have not been working and I relished in an early pint of cider and the warm and effusive glows of everyone back home. I was told to take a lot of photos of my excursion so this post will be littered with them.
I subsequently wandered the streets of Barcelona for a couple of hours drinking the first of many cafe con tardo and taking photos of the Franco railway station.
Somewhat handsome chap in the railway station.
At 12pm Sam and Nancy arrived at the railway station. We had a bit of time to kill before the next train so we went to a mexican restaurant which was not serving food but had somewhat drinkable margaritas.
Mexican Christmas snow man
Two festive chaps.
At 1:40 we began the 1.5 hour train ride west to Port Aventura. It is here I must big up the Spanish train system. Not only is it far cheaper than bus, the trains are well looked after and nearly empty. The train ride west hugs the coast and it is not unlike the Riviera from Menton in France into Italy.
By the time the train ride finished we were quite excited and we leapt off the train and hurtled towards the park gates. There were quite a few hawkers trying to sell dodgy tickets. I know better than to try and talk with them, and left Sam and Nancy to parlay polite refusals in Spanish.
Dumping our luggage at the gates we entered the park and began our ascent into carefully cultivated psychologically modified theme park heaven. After a quick stop to have a fortifying drink we made the foolish decision to ride the most terrifying ride at Port Aventura. We named this ride the penetrator. It uses the same mechanism that aircraft carriers use to catapult planes off so they can take off. We all felt somewhat shaken up afterwards. If you listen carefully you can hear me saying “Jesus”
We then began a 3 hour meander through the various sections of the park and partook in various rides. There were four distinct sections open.
Mediterraneo.
The Wild West & Mexico
Sesamo Adventura
and China
Obviously there is quite a lot of park to wander about in and I think you would be hard pressed to see it all in one day. Especially in Summer when the queues are invariably longer and there is a whole other section open, Polynesia and it’s water park.
After the unnerving Penetrator we chose a very sedate and very wet river ride. Thankfully my carefully chosen clothing offered some protection.
There are a few things that I noticed unique to Spanish theme parks. It is very easy to get and drink alcohol. It was not easy enough for Sams liking but given that you could buy beer every 500 metres or so and there was a wine bar which was selling hard spirits I was more than happy. Check out this beer we bought.
There was a very shakey ride called El Diablo de la Mina in the Mexican section of the park. If you think carefully back to my lessons from Hector this is a perfect example of his unified feminine masculine rule.
I also noticed some very latin graffiti. These two pieces actually are two nicknames given to different crew members by the Mexican mafia.
In the Mexican section we rode a large and mildly terrifying tower which also doubled as a spine shortening device.
I am not sure how far you need to fall before you hit terminal velocity but we were all glad when the tower engineering slowed our decent.
We had one more ride left in us. The underestimated and very comfortable Pirate ship. We found it very reassuring to scream voluminously when the Pirate ship was hitting it’s straps. It was also quite therapeutic. We wondered about the untapped Pirate ship holistic therapy industry.
By now it was starting to get dark and a bit cold. Spain afforded us a lovely sunset and we retreated to the nearest town Salou.
Salou is apparently quite busy in Summer time. I have heard people wistfully describe it as a continental Ibiza. In Winter it is a lot less busy and the streets afforded the same ambience as a post apocalyptic future minus the zombies. The hotel we stayed at deservers mentioning. The Regente Aragón was a great one and my decision to get a superior room baffled Sam and Nancy. The reason of course was having dragged my Traktor all day it needed an airing.
I gave my Traktor such a thorough airing it was well past 12 when we retired to sleep. I think we talked at length about how amazing Port Ventura was and we may have snuck in a couple of episodes of a tv show that is not for the faint hearted.
It is fair to say we consumed a fair bit of alcohol the night before. So the buffet breakfast the next morning was attacked with relish.
Our second day at the theme park was to be just as good as the first day. Getting there at lunchtime allowed us to take things a bit slower. We started our day with a ride on the pirate ship. Nancy mentioned that she would like a Pirate Ship shower that she could use every morning. From the Pirate ship we made our way to the tea cups and then feeling a bit peckish we entered a Mexican cantina.
The Mexican cantina was one of those small gems that was tucked away. It was large and cavernous and there was live entertainment. For a moment I felt like I could be in a sanitized version of a Mexican Christmas.
From the Cantina we took time to take some photos with a safely inanimate cow.
It is here that my memory starts to get a little hazy. I know we rode this ride because I have a photo of it.
I know we started drinking an incredible beer called Vol Damme
I know that we rode the penetrator again because the footage at the start is actually from our very last ride. I invested post humorously in a pair of scuba googles which have a camera and video recording option for the next time I find myself in such an exciting place.
It is safe to say that by now we were pretty spent with all of the intense excitement that the weekend had provided us with. We made our way to the nearest hotel foyer and waited for the 7:20 train back to Barcelona.
In Conclusion……
Port Aventura is a great theme park one which can only be more awesome in summer time with it is open till midnight and gets 50% larger. There are three themed hotels on site and I think it would be a great hoot to stay in one of those.
As with all trips it is often the company that makes them and I am very lucky to have made to great friends in Sam and Nancy. I hope we can go away somewhere else soon.
Tune in next time for tales from a very Argentinean dinner party.
https://theselines.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/05/Myriad-Lines-1.jpg14132133El Dracohttps://theselines.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/04/These-Lines-Logo-Slim-White.pngEl Draco2011-12-17 14:35:002021-05-06 00:31:52Adventures in Port Aventura
So I just had one of the best Saturdays I have had in a long time almost completely ruined by Magic. How could this happen? What could Magic mar? My perfect saturday went something like this.
I arose at approximately 10 minutes past 8am with a slightly fuzzy head and fuzzy mouth that attending a dock BBQ the night before bequeathes. I had a lovely if sporadic chat with my wife via Skype and then ate a healthy breakfast and rode my bicycle to the gym. My ride to the gym or work is wonderful. We had a stunningly clear autumns day here on Saturday and my ride was not at all that different from this.
Media prepared earlier, been waiting to use that one. This blog entry is all about the media, multi even.
After exercising and swimming at the gym I returned home and pottered about on the internet for about an hour or so. I then went to the nearest Japanese restaurant and dined on some fine Japanese food. I learned an incredibly handy Spanish phrase. Cafe con Tardo this gets you an Espresso with a dash or milk. I engaged in some shopping, unfortunately like large sections of Asia Spanish people have small heads so finding suitable caps is hard work. Thankfully Spanish surfers have larger heads than the football players or runners.
I returned home 3pm in time to turn myself around and get ready for one of the standout epic performances of my life.
MONSTER JAM MONSTER TRUCKS!!!!
Somewhere in my childhood I developed a taste for monster trucks, probably around when I used to play with radio controlled cars. I have had a latent hankering to see a real life monster truck for at least 20 years. Seeing Monster Trucks in the Olympic Stadium in Barcelona was a dream come true. There was a reasonable posse from our boat who went to have a look. One of the Engineers took his mum who had come to visit. Another one of the Engineers took his girlfriend he had not seen for a month. Engineers always on the look out for horsepower.
We got reasonably lost on the way to the Monster Trucks. We abandoned our taxi in the heaving traffic jam which was people trying to get to the Monster Truck Jam. We scrambled up a hill gouging ourselves on thorn bushes and dodging broken bottles. We then, after getting warned not to, got in a cable car which proceeded to take us away from the stadium.
Thankfully there was a wonderful Swedish couple in our cable car who stopped us going to the panic. I had exhausted all of my social Swedish before we had left the cable car and it was another mad dash to the stadium and the monsters!
Actual panoramic photo of the stadium. Told you I was going all out.
Sensibly you might not think you can make three hours family entertainment out of 10 Monster Trucks some earth movers and a few motorcycles. Well that is where you are very wrong. The first section of the evening were a series of time trials around the oval course. Two Monster Trucks would square off and try not to destroy the track or each other.
Unfortunately Bigfoot was not in attendance but dirty old Grave Digger was there looking scary and menacing.
The highlight of the time trial section was Maximum Destruction rolling his truck and landing it upside down. There was a palpable silence and thankfully the portly driver emerged unscathed. He then proceeded to pick up a bit of the destroyed bodywork and wave it triumphantly at the crowd. He was given a bottle of champagne for his efforts.
There were a few intervals during the Monster Trucks. The first couple of intervals had a monster golf cart enter the stadium with a jet turbine which made an incredible noise and had impressive flames billowing from it’s engine.
A troupe of motorcyclists were bought out who did some very impressive jumps and tricks. But the crowd were all waiting for the main course of the evening. The freestyle. The trucks were each given 90 seconds to drive around the course doing jumps, smashing cars and doing doughnuts. They were then marked by three judges. A lot of the trucks went upside down in this section with maximum destruction coming out with half of his body kit missing only to lose all of his body kit.
Three trucks went upside down in this section with the drivers egging themselves and each other to do more and more crazy things. The crowd favourite El Toro Loco did this unbelieveable manuerve and ended up getting the most points. It was magic and not the kind which was to surface seven hours later.
With the monster trucks over I left the stadium at breakneck speed and without breaking my neck I descended the what felt like a mountain and hailed a taxi to take me home. Pausing to change my clothes I then went to Sam’s place to wait before we started an evening of his choosing. Sam is a good natured Englishman that works in our team Being English I have latched onto him as someone to banter with in my own tongue. Strangely enough he is from Guilford where James Lovejoy was from. He also has a strange attraction to mirrors.
Sam was eating a dinner inside with his girlfriend. What they were eating is anyones guess as the day before his water and gas had been turned off. I think they were eating kebabs. English people love kebabs. I sat down under the trees drinking cider from the local bar, the black horse. With Sam and his girlfriend ready we made our way to Marmalade bar in Raval. It turned out Sam had kludged his plumbing so he did at least have water and did not smell much.
Marmalade bar was convivial enough. It served very passable mojitos but its real talent lay in its proximity to Barcelona’s very famous Bar Marcella. Bar Marcella has been open since 1820 and has had some famous patrons over the years including Dali, Picasso, Gaudi and Hemingway. Naturally I was quite keen to add my name to the list. What greeted me in Marcella was the very pungent smell of Absinthe and a decaying Dali’ish roof. Immediately I noticed that people were always in a hurry to leave. Sam got us a round of Absinthe and I was interested to see that Absinthe is an amber coloured liquid in its natural form. It is not until you have added molten sugar that it turns green. I think we all turned green soon after and we were soon barelleling out the door much like the people who had greeted us on our way in.
It is worth noting that was now well after 12 my perfect Saturday was finished. With the liquid devil of Absinthe coursing through our veins we made a what turned out to be fatal decision. We would go to a bar that had been recommended by an increasingly dubious American. We would go to Magic Bar.
Up until Sunday morning I had been living in a delightful bubble believing Barcelona to be a truly cosmopolitan place with vibrant and exciting things to see and do at every corner. Magic Bar certainly sounded interesting, there was a healthy queue and we all felt anticipation and a bit queazy with excitement. That could have been the absinthe.
What greeted me was truly sad. I lasted about three minutes in Magic bar. It was a truly tragic place. I think it should have been called Anti Magic bar or Euthanasia. Deeply depraved people walking around and swaying dangerously. I wouldn’t have been surprised to have seen someone fall over dead. It turns out my amazing taste in music has give me some Bourne Identity like conditioning. Hearing Crocodile rock being played over a loud PA system was enough to make me walk out without saying goodbye and get safely into a taxi.
Sam being English stayed around to drink his free drink and mine. He lasted about half an hour before he left to get another kebab. He has photos of weird people including a chap he named Snake hips the rapist. Magic Bar what a crock. On Monday we devoted vast tracts of the day trying to understand how Magic bar stays open. Our best theory is that people go there to kill a night. If you are actually having too much fun and need to knock a night on the head. Magic bar is the place to be. Maybe you want to ditch a date or sober up? Magic bar where your dreams come true.
That was my mighty Saturday. May there be many more minus the Magic.
For the past two weeks I have been spending more and more time with the somewhat shadowy figure of the Mexican Mafia, Hector. Hector says very little at first but now I have trouble finding spots when he is not making a noise of some description.
Hector has only been too happy to further my Spanish education with many manageable morsels. The ultimate so far has been his explanation of feminine and masculine nouns. The pro-noun el or la is put front of them and it trips up many an English speaker. Hectors rule works very well and I can not fault it. It is quite simple.
Suppose you are a man. Could you have carnal heterosexual abiet quite kinky relations with the object? Yes, it is feminine. No it is is masculine.
Upon learning this rule I looked about the room attempting to break it. Spying a roll of electrical tape I said.
El Cinta?
“No” said Hector, see its obvious characteristic. That is feminine.
I then looked at a screwdriver. He smiled and said “that it is el desarmador”
A ladder turns out to be feminine. I asked Hector about this and Hector was only too happy to demonstrate the various positions a ladder can be posed in.
Spanish truly is a language of love.
My other Hector lesson comes from a direct translation of his Argentinian tongue. Instead of saying Don’t Panic. Hector says,
“Don’t go to the Panic”
I love this. It makes panicing out as a dark place that one has to go to to experience. I think this is true and when I start to lose my head I just think “Don’t go to the Panic”
Hector even took time out to txt me “Don’t go the Panic” at a random time yesterday.
In an all to familiar cycle up until last night I had forgone traditional language lessons for full immersion Bullfighter Spanish lessons. Much the same as Cowboy Italiano, I have been learning on the job. What makes it different here is that I am working with the Mexican mafia. Martin in particular has been a great teacher because he does not speak any English. I have been learning all manner of crazy Espanol.
Cinta = Electrical Tape gyea = Small line for guiding cables Escalera= Ladder Jabón = Soap
As you can imagine learning bundles of words like this with the occasional swear word makes retrofitting what I have learned back into every day life difficult. Thankfully I can also say.
Vale = Ok Que Pasa?= Whats up?
On Friday I learned that a small suction cup or sucker is called Sopapa. Naturally adding Sopapa onto the end of Que Pasa is the best thing I could think of. Hence the title. Whats up suckers?
Thankfully last night I attended a more formal and infinitely more useful Spanish lesson. My teacher Jackie knows how difficult for English speakers to learn anything let alone another language. After being in tears at a Spanish lesson in Barcelona she vowed to learn Spanish and teach useful Spanish to gringos like myself.
After two hours of leisurely learning structure, telling stories and getting a feel for Barcelona and Spanish. I think I am ready for my second lesson. Jackie thinks I will learn quickly and is quite ready to introduce me to some of her Spanish pupils who are learning English.
Be Afraid.
PS There are probably some spelling mistakes in the Spanish above. I apologize profusely and blame Martin.
Counting Ibiza & Palma, driving across Spain and last year in Barcelona I have lived in Spain for about two months. The difference this time is that I won’t be moving cities every couple of days, holidaying or living aboard a boat. I also shouldn’t be drinking a mojito every day like I was in Ibiza. Spain remains nicely different and endlessly friendly. As always with a protracted amount of habitation it is the little things that stand out and not what you would automatically think. Fittingly I like to call these tapas moments.
Language
The people of Barcelona speak a dialect of Spanish called Catalans. I had a lengthy discussion with a French expat last weekend and she described Catalans as a sped up version of Spanish where words are truncated or just left out all together. To the untrained ear it sounds like everybody says mojito a lot. Maybe it is just our shipyard people. Maybe there is a guy there called mojito. Maybe hurry the hell up in Catalans is mojito?
Thanks to some networking I have the phone number of an American English teacher who teaches Spanish as well. What makes these language lessons very welcoming is that she likes to teach Spanish in bars. By ordering drinks from the bar tenders and interacting with the patrons one learns Espanol in a very relaxed setting. I will probably say mojito.
Robins Hood
Did you know Robin Hood was from Barcelona? He actually probably wasn’t, but the relaxed apologetic attitude that Barcelonians have towards theft is quite strange. People will gladly tell you to move your bag closer, or keep your phone out of sight but the criminal element is very much tolerated. No one is telling the thieves to stop stealing. My new chief stewardess had her phone stolen out of her hand on Saturday night whilst she was talking on it. Surely there is CCTV here. Surely somebody cares! bicycle salesmen and phone shops do a roaring trade in the mean time.
Interesting design choices
Barcelona is famous for the stunning architecture but there are also small design choices that are unique. There seems to be a very accepting attitude to people sleeping in public over night. Park benches are comfortable looking. Subway vents heat cold spots. It even looks like stairwells going to underground car parks have been designed so you can have a windowed spot on the ground that sleeps two.
I joined a gym last week and the first thing that greeted me when entering was a large and prominent advertisement for a local beer. The interior of the gym was cavernous and vast sections overlook the Iberian sea. This is all quite distracting, thankfully there is a large cafe/restaurant which is just as busy as the gym and sells that beer they have on the door. I have seen a strange style of swimming here that has to have been designed. It requires lying on your back and kicking sporadically, as you start to sink to the bottom you should rotate both arms simultaneously in backwards circles. It looks incredibly difficult and counter intuitive but I shall try my best to replicate it as soon as I work out how to get to the pool. The final insult is that my gym also has an art gallery inside where you can buy art after you have had a few beers and almost drowned in the pool.
The Mexican Mafia
I am working with a few Argentinian’s who have been dubbed the Mexican Mafia. They are interesting fellows and once they have the measure of you show quite wicked flashes of humour. Naturally I find myself joking about with them a bit and here are some of our exchanges.
Sam: It is Sunday soon Hector will you be going to church? Hector: No I do not believe in God Me: Oh ok Hector (sensing it might be a sensitive subject) Hector: I do not believe in God I believe in Maradona.
Mario is the second member of the Mexican Mafia. He was quite vocal in showing his displeasure at the way the All Blacks bundled the Argentinians out of the RWC. I felt remorse and consoled him telling him he should be proud of his countries achievement visualising him crying at home wracked with anguish after watching the game with his fellow country men. I should not have worried. Five minutes later a South African sat down beside us(South Africa were also put out)
Mario: hahahahaaha you lose! SAFA: Shut up Mario: hahahaah you loser SAFA: We scored more points than you. Did you even watch and support your team? Mario No
Echoing my time starting out as a deckhand I have been largely working solo for the last two weeks. Whilst this is not ideal it is a good way to learn as you make plenty of silly mistakes and tend to make them only once. As a reward for my valiant efforts I was gifted the third member of the mexican mafia, Martin to work with. Martin is an endearingly cheeky young chap who speaks about three words of English. We have managed ok with a combination of hand signals, cowboy Italiano and shrugs. I naturally do not use ladders unless I really have to. I know Lungo is Long in Italian so with a bit of bartering I have been named El Largo Kiwi. Given some of the names given to other crew members by the Mexican Mafia I have done pretty well for myself.
Nightlife
Embarassingly and also quite sensibly I have eschewed almost all forms of the nightlife that Barcelona is renowned for. I did venture out for a crew dinner last Wednesday and was impressed by a few things. Firstly the restaurant we went to had people giving head and shoulder massages before and after your meal.
After being coerced to have a couple of drinks on the way home I was loudly ushered into a taxi and went as far away from home as I have been in Barcelona. We ended up in the shot bar. The shot bar only serves shots which I think is a great idea. I have learned that drinking shots by themselves is not that dangerous. It is when you are also drinking rounds along with or between shots that it gets a bit skeweth. This bar handily had the entire menu painted on the wall in case you had momentary reading problems.
Finally turning in the right direction I started going home. We ended up in a rock bar which was very exciting. Spanish people love to grow a lot of hair and rock out at the drop of a guitar pick. This rock bar was decorated with well, take a look for yourself.
That is Barcelona so far. Despite myself I have been having quite an interesting time. It might be time to actually start looking for points of discussion. Till next time.
That large and bountiful universe luckily provided me with a chance to rediscover Greece and actually walk about on its varied landscapes working and not working. We went back to my perfect Greek island Symi. I actually had the chance to sit in the port drinking Greek chilled water, munch on a kebab and soak up the beating sun at 4pm. For a few minutes I actually felt like an honest to goodness tourist.
From Symi we made our way to Poros and I spied my good friend David “El Fuerte”‘s boat. In typical Spanish style he suggested I forget about my guests and join him for a beer. Sadly this did not transpire immediately but it is a funny thing that universe….We dropped off our final charter of the season in Athens and what an amazing feeling that was. It has been a long year and a lot of us will be moving onto greener and unknown pastures come the end of September.
Sadly with Anna feeling unwell it took us a while to celebrate effectively. What I did do on my first real day off in a couple of months was reacquaint myself with normal life. This involved catching a taxi, walking across busy streets, buying a mac book pro and air, fighting with my bank over the phone, almost leaving my ATM card in an ATM, filling a prescription and then returning back to the boat fearing for my seemingly lost social and society graces on land.My fears were short lived.
Athens and the Greeks that inhabit it have been uniformly hospitable and friendly. The very next day we caught a taxi to the Acropolis. What greeted us at the Acropolis was the busiest tourist attraction we have ever visited. The centuries old marble made for an impromptue hill sliding course. The hectnicess of the Acropolis was unerring and I think we were about 2500 years late for the best of it.
For a country in the depths of a financial bail out, Athens felt very lively and vibrant. I couldn’t stop thinking where is the recession? and if they are in a recession they could do a couple of small things to get them out of it. Let me explain.
Service?
Getting service at a bar or restaurant is a hit or miss affair. Giving a waiter the nod is not enough, After a week in Athens I have started waving my arms like an aerobics instructor. When you finally get service you then go through a long indeterminable amount of time before your order turns up. This is compounded by a one waiter policy for a lot of places during large chunks of the day. If you go directly to the bar you will be shooed away. People in service are also taken aback when you give them a tip, a shame really.During a long stint at a bar last night I actually came up with a theory for this service. If they served tourists drinks on time everyone would be barking drunk at 8pm. If you drip feed tourists drinks they spend more money. Clever eh?
Taxis?
Having been pre warned about the interesting taxi drivers which populace Greece we expected the worse and came off not that wounded. The only thing which seemed a bit disingenuous were the rolling taxi strikes which cleaned the streets and made Athens safe to walk about in. If you are going to strike for your rights surely it is better to be missed and not gladly so.
Summer?
Officially Summer has finished with the start of September in the northern hemisphere. That doesn’t mean it is cold in Greece. It is still scorching and we tried to visit a pool bar last week for a swim. Sadly we were told the pool was closed as summer was over. Naturally we sweated off elsewhere. Maybe things would have been different if we had….
The DOM effect
Strangely many of the things I have identified as problems with service dissipate when you order a bottle of DOM. With Anna on the mend and the great Aussie Battler having had a really bad Friday we decided to go and have a nice meal at a local restaurant. With the Battler and I looking particularly antipodean we were ushered into a table far away from the view of the marina. Once we ordered our bottle of DOM we were moved to a VIP table and had non stop service for three hours. After the second bottle we started getting frozen mojitos, fruit platters and a free fawning Matridi’.
There appears to be a sliding bar of money spent in Greece which equals free stuff. We reached this bar a few times and it was a nice touch.
Beware of Business in Greece
Before we go to Greece I had at least two people tell me that Greeks are renown for being canny in business. One of these people was my old Captain Richard Dunnais so I was particularly wary of doing any sort of business. Luckily all of my business deals were simply tourist or consumer in nature but that did not stop me from witnessing a strange set of events as we tried to leave.We had three different yacht surveyors visit us in Athens before we left. They all found different things wrong with us. They all played off each other and it very nearly went pear shaped when we had to leave. There was a mercy dash to the local police station by our Chief Engineer with a crew list and passports. We could have very nearly been impounded or stuck in Athens for months because of tricky business practices.
Naturally if you are trying to encourage foreigners to invest or encourage yachts to stop by for winter or even just gather more tax these nefarious practices are not going to help your cause.
Best Moments in Athens
One of my best moments in Athens was directly after the DOM evening when Anna, the battler and myself decided to have an impromptu bow party. It was the first time I have used my decks in about two months and it was a classic session.
To say the party was intimate is perhaps grandiose. But for the umpteempth time in the past few years I found myself saying wow to myself and feeling quite blessed at what transpires when things come together.
The following Sunday we felt the earth tremor and the temperature go up a couple of notches. By jove! El Fuerte was close at hand. I ran to the bow and saw his boat coming in. He was on the bow as well but despite my best efforts to flag him down he walked around in circles talking earnestly on his radio. He may have been talking to his wife on his cell phone, my eyes could not quite make him out.
His season had finished and we had a fair few catch up drinks that evening in a funny little bar called Okio. I got to meet some of his crew and they all seemed very cool, even the Croatian lived in NZ which I could not fault him for. David got to meet some of my crew, including our larger than life Chef who was even for his standards quite skeweth. I think it was about 11:15 when I ushered the Chef out with David close behind. I am not sure what Davids plans are but I hope I will get to see him and Filip somewhere before the end of the year. Maybe we can watch a game of football.
Thats it.
That was my time in Greece. I should like to visit again, maybe next time I will be a guest on a Super Yacht. Just putting it out there. It seems to work.
I will leave you with some cowboy Greek which was provided to me by my sisters partner Vicky.
Parakalo – please
Efharisto – thankyou
Mi pouleesees ti yineka mou, parakalo- Dont sell my wife please
Kalimera – good day
Dio calamari parakalo- 2 of your squid please
Halia katastasi – awful situation(use when discussing the economy)
Pou eine ee toileta? – where is the toilet?
Ohi – no
Ohi apo piso efharisto – no, not from behind thank you
Ne – yesNe thelo bira – yes i want beer
fere bira – bring beer
Fere bira tora – bring beer now
Malaka – wanker
Malaka – friend(dependent on your delivery)
Mboro na daniso to gaitouri sas?- can i borrow your donkey?
Sadly I did not progress much further than saying Malaka a lot. But I did say it both ways.
