Not quite Portugal
04 August 2006
Bye Bye Spain (probably)
Another fantastic, vibrant Spanish city. The usual crowded small streets, thronged with Tapas and raciones restaurant. Bayona also has two additional attractions: a castle, which has been converted into a Parador, and a thundering great statue of the Virgin Mary on top of an equally thundering great hill. The entrance fee for each was 1 euro. In fact, the entrance fee for anything in Spain seems to be one euro. Probably an EU directive, ??~Public monuments and heritage sites accessibility charge concordance directive 2006/417/(a)?? . Tony Blair?? s probably negotiated a derogation which allows the Government to charge up to 2% of GNP for the privilege of walking out of your front gate.
We looked around the castle, which was stunning. Everywhere you turned there were views crying out to be photographed; purple Bougainvillaea scrambling up grey stone arches; glimpses of blue seas & tree clad hills across battlements and lots of wealthy people eating on the terrace.
Having climbed to the dizzy heights of the top of the castle, we turned a corner and saw the even higher Virgin of the Rock, a 50 metre statue on top of a 300 metre hill. ?I want to go up there.� said Liz. ?OK dear.� said Bob. So we Blashered our way up the hill, paid the obligatory euro each and were allowed in through a narrow door in the bottom of the statue. Once through, we entered a dim tunnel little wider than Bob?? s shoulders which wound up a spiral staircase. Not much good if you suffer from claustrophobia. Just to add to the general merriment, there were plaques set into the walls at intervals carrying such cheering messages as ?Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us now in this, the hour of our death.�
Never mind, we thought, we?? ll be out soon. And we were ??" straight into a little concrete boat, just about waist height and just about big enough for the two of us and maybe a small gerbil. Said boat was held delicately in the Virgin?? s right hand 50 metres up in the air above a straight drop. The video Liz took doesn?? t quite do justice to the pallor of Bob?? s knuckles as he gripped the rail.
After a couple of days in Bayona, we set off for the Islas Cies, about 10 miles to the North. We did try sailing there, but the speed of 1.2 knots made us dizzy. We anchored in what was probably the most crowded anchorage we?? d seen so far, and you can see why. It was the text-book desert island anchorage with white sand and aquamarine sea backed by high, tree covered hill. We found Peter and Lucia on Fair Grace already anchored, but 5 minutes after we arrived they left for the other island, Isla St. Martin. If I were a sensitive soul, I could get a complex.
We stayed at anchor for 2 nights and I could wax lyrical for ages about the attractions of Islas Cies, but I?? ll let the photographs do it for me (a statement greeted by hearty sighs of relief throughout the cybersphere).
We were going to go direct to Viana de Castello in Portugal, but the wind really picked up that last night, and the Met we managed to get over the radio indicated strong winds and lots of swell, so we chickened out and headed back to Bayona, where we currently lie, intending to head for Portugal tomorrow when the wind eases, as promised by the assembled Met offices of four European countries.
Captain?? s log additional:
Thursday 3rd August ??" The Night of the Black Todger. (It?? s not what you think)
In anticipation of our leaving for Portugal the next day (rash, as things turned out) we decided to treat ourselves to a meal at a Tapas bar to spend all the money we hadn?? t saved on July?? s budget.
We went to one that had been really crowded with locals when we passed the other day, down a narrow street with tables set outside under genuine XVII century arched columns. As it was only 9:30 in the evening all the locals were just starting to get ready to go out and there were plenty of tables, so we sat down and were presented with the menus by a waiter who must have been all of 15. Lovely bloke, keen, amicable and efficient without so much as a hint of adolescent surliness.
Bob ordered a beer (successfully) but the poor lad was completely flummoxed (as are most Spanish waiters) by Liz?? s order of a vodka and soda. So he brought her a large glass of shandy. After much gesticulating and saying ??~vodka?? in every intonation and accent we could think of, he went away and returned with a bottle of Smirnoff. Mind you, he?? d hedged his bets on the soda bit and brought a selection of mixers for Liz to choose from.
We perused the aforementioned menu and decided our choices were limited by two factors; our piscovegetarianism and the fact that we?? d left the English/Spanish dictionary behind. So we worked out a choice of tortilla, salad, cod croquettes and empanada (little tuna pies). Waiter returns and Bob orders by speaking in Portuguese with what he hoped was a Spanish accent, pointing and grunting. This was greeted with a torrent of fractured Spanish at about 560 wpm and an apologetic shrug. After trying Portuguese in another range of accents including Serbo-Croat, Chechen and a throat infection, we worked out that there was no tortilla, and no empanadas. Spanish restaurants seem strangely reluctant to serve tortilla in the evening. ??~Public dining (relevance to time of day) standardisation directive 2002/597 9(d)?? ?
This severely limited our options. Our communication with the waiter was about on the level of two year olds, so even if we?? d managed to get across that we wanted to know what something was, we wouldn?? t have understood the answer. We therefore resorted to the (Groucho) Marx philosophy of ?Here are my principles. If you don?? t like them, I have some others�. We decided to order something that looked like we might be able to eat it and then see if we could work out what it was when it arrived. And then eat it regardless. So we ordered ??~queso provolone al horno?? which looked like it might be cheese cooked in an oven, and ??~fabada casera?? which looked like it might be beans in some guise or other.
We were then handed the impressive wine list - four pages of wines none of which either of us had ever heard. So we went for one of our other ploys which is ??~Choose a type of wine you know, and order the 2nd or 3rd most expensive?? . This worked perfectly, with the exception of the fact that they didn?? t have any of the one we chose. Or choices numbers 2 to 6. Or, in fact, any of the Ribeiro wines except the 5 euro ones, which would probably have about 60 centimos (42p) in the supermarket (see logs passim) and should really have been marketed as pan scourer. In the end, using Portuguese as a tonal language, like Thai, seemed to get across the message ??~Well, what have you got then that?? s white and doesn?? t taste like Ajax??? So he pointed at two of them and Bob chose one purely at random.
The wine arrived, and this was a winner. ??~As Laxas?? Albarino, since you ask, and very good it was too. Then the food arrived:
Mixed salad:
Excellent, if large, mixed tuna salad ??" Score 1
Bacalao croquettes:
Just like it said on the packet ??" very tasty ??" Score 1 again.
Queso etc: Was, indeed, cheese & spices cooked in an oven ??" score 0.5
Fabada Casera: Ah, yes.
It was, indeed, beans. Beans in a savoury gravy, baked in an oven. Beans in a savoury gravy, baked in an oven, along with various parts of the anatomy of a pig of which few people are aware, or would want to be aware.
And the black todger. It arrived squatting on the beans as if daring you to eat it. It was cylindrical, about 4cm in diameter and 8 cm long. It wasn?? t black pudding, it was far too black. The skin was resistant to abrasion, sharp edges and most corrosive liquids and had the tensile strength of 12 mm stainless steel rigging wire.
In contrast the filling had the texture of ??" well, how can I put this. I wouldn?? t have been surprised if they?? d just cut out a section of large intestine and cooked it without cleaning or even emptying it. It managed to be sticky and crumbly at the same time which isn?? t easy.
Bravely, our intrepid travellers tried a small amount each. We?? ve just discussed said taste, and have come to the conclusion that it was truly indescribable, and that?? s definitely not as in ??~sublime?? . Among the terms rejected as being nowhere near man enough for the job were ??~vile?? , ??~rancid?? , ??~disgusting?? , ??~cloyingly organic?? , ??~toxic?? , ??~emetic?? , and ??~dogshit?? .
We ate the rest of the meal with gusto, pausing occasionally to toy with the beans and try to make some inroads into the fabada. Unfortunately, although the beans were very pleasant, the crumbly nature of The Black Todger?? s filling ensured it spread throughout the dish and contaminated everything in it, the cutlery, all the other crockery and the table cloth. It seemed to have some sort of instinctive dispersal program. Everything became contaminated with it, including several passers-by. If it ever learns to reproduce we?? re all in deep trouble.