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LOGBOOK #4: lowly manpower....
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FIREWORKS!!!!
They just made a fireworks show!
Fantastic galitian fireworks for the "feria de Maria Pita!"
A local Heroine.
They dedicated to her squares, statues, a corrida, that kind of things.
She's supposed to have been a likeable person as well.
....Pita, incidentally, in my mother's home dialect means "hen", but here they do not seem to care....
HOW BEAUTIFUL!! I'm happy as a child, yuk.
And I also have my first scar of the 2005 cruise!!!
Right foot's big toe slashed by I-don't-know-what on the beach, while the atlantic waves were trying to drown me!
Yeah!!
Stop! It's diverting me from my intended story!
I wanted to talk about my sad condition as an on-board lowly workforce.
Do I perfectly know how to reef? Oh yes! But why?
Because reefing basically means, for the role I have been assigned by the
Commander, a totally un-healthy waste of energies (mine), and the development of all sort of blisters on my
hands.
I can haul or let-go ropes like anyone else in the world? Yesss! Why?
You know that by yourselves, come on, I can't explain everything!
We buy a full cartload (a measurement unit corresponding to damn-it's-a-lot plus a quart of
no-no-no-don't-ask-me-I-can't-do-it) of eating and drinking stuff, a lot of it clearly useless but grasped because it was already dinner time and we were
hungry, anyway BAGS AFTER BAGS, and DO WE DO TWO TRIPS between the supermarket and the boat??
Of course we do not: there's the stevedore here, loaded like a weelbarrow, marching sweating and puffing under the galitian sun towards the boat.
Incidentally the she-Commander, once aboard, claimed an UNBEARABLE foot-ache and dropped in her bunk from
where, while we were storing everything (an enterprise involving materials
engineering, black magic, and a total disrespect for the laws of physics, especially
the non-permeability of solid bodies), was telling real-life jokes and asking for fresh
fruit.
And we were giving it to her!!
Idiots....
No, thinking again it was less stuff to store: que viva la she-Commander,
siempre!
How many people are needed to change a light bulb?
Three, if the bulb is AT THE MAST-HEAD.
This was this morning's event, the anchor light (a small lamp which is switched on at night when anchoring in a small cove, in the futile hope to make one visible to anybody else having the bad idea to anchor by night....), the anchor light as I
said, was blown.
Oh well, the Commander climbs the mast and changes it, where's the problem?
Eh no, my young cabin-boy: on shaula 2 that was easy, the mast was equipped with definitely ugly but very practical
steps.
The mast on Shaula 3 is smooooth shiny and slippery damn if it is slippery, and the good
Commander, who by the way is no longer young and is definitely overweight, really cannot make it.
Now what?
Simple!
Here's the cabin-boy, who takes a rope, ties it to the Bulky Commander, holds the other end, and PULLS HIM UP.
I pulled to the mast top a hundredweight of live man!!!!
Anatomically, it was instructive, I discovered on my arms a lot of veins and arteries I was not aware of until this
morning, and this is a good thing.
But very little fun.
Stop, enough complaining, now to sleep because, being the town really nice and equipped with a wide and welcoming beach, tomorrow we
LEAVE!!!!
And we will also skip Cape Finisterre, Ferretti and end-of-the-world fans
notwithstanding.
We go to Camarinas, I don't know what for.
Mainly to digest, because last evening's provisioning gave way to an
unwarranted, gargantuan dinner (SALSA BRAVA IS BACK!!!) which will keep me busy at least until
mid-august, slurgh!
I think I need to throw up, but I will do it while thinking of you all with love.
Huppa Huppa
Lore
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