Horta Harbor Life

First, I have to confess that yesterday's post disappeared. I was deep into the personalities of this bar, getting you familiar with our drinking companions...and the damn thing disappeared. Such is the problem of using someone else's computer. Every key stroke counts and I did something stupid.

Today Freya took off with a hiking party to Pico, the island whose mountain provides us with changing moods every few hours. Sometimes the summit is crowned in clouds, later a skirt of clouds dresses her, then a mist and fog lays at her feet and she looks like a dessert. Yesterday the setting sun cast a blood red glow upon her and the mt. resembled the burnt lands in Moab, Utah. It's quite a tricky climb apparently. Hikers take a ferry over and plan on 4-5 hours to the top. Hypothermia is a problem if they aren't outfitted properly.

Bryce, Jason, Hank and Rudy (from Seae (pronounced See-ya and there's an accent there somewhere) and I were going to rent a car and get up to the crater (caldera) on Faial and spend the day circling the island. The weather is drizzly, nothing like yesterday's scorcher. So here it is 2 p.m. and not much is happening. A Hans Christian on the inside of Seae headed out...back to England...and one boat leaving takes up to 3 hours for final exhanges with the authorities and good-byes. Ted, the skipper showed me around his lovely boat, quite homey...loads of storage and a hole in the cabin ceiling to remind him of last year's capsizing!!! He did a 360 in a hurricane.

Well that switcheroo put Rudy and Hank out of our sightseeing plans and now we're regrouping for tomorrow. Jason and Brice have returned to the MOB refit. I filled all the water containers and made my (probably next to final) shopping list. I have one cooking day left. Then there will be meals for 14 days. I know the passage is 10-12, but I am conservative when it comes to food. Better too much than not enough. You all know I love to feed people on land or sea. Last to get is T-paper, sodas, beer, and eggs, and the chip stuff. Not sure where I am going to put it all. I get creative and the guys are living out of their bags.

Hank and Rudy have made their third crew member walk the plank. They picked up a "big talker" in Bermuda and the guy was ok on the way over. When he got here, he started to drink and didn't let up. He drove their rented car up on the dock, fell and hurt himself on the cobble stones, annoyed female sailors, invited guests to the boat at 3 in the morning when the captain and mate were asleep...drove them over the edge, really. They cast him off and he proceeded to "buy" a house from some locals. The guy tells some tremendous whoppers. The unwary couple let him settle into the house, a few streets up from the harbor, believing that he was "tired of sailing." Apparently, they have figured out his word is no good and right now I hear he's looking for another boat. Good crew is hard to come by. The wrong person on a long passage or even in a wild harbor like this one can trash the crew.

Ah, here's the sun! Maybe Jason can get the boat sign finished on the dock. It's hard to paint when it stays wet around here. There's a big yacht race coming in soon. It's a 40 Class round trip Les Sables-Horta 09. The 25 contenders left France July 5. Horta is preparing to entertain the boats...a big tent has gone up here in the harbor and there's a platform and tent going up in a large median between the promenade and the shopping district behind the MidAtlantic chandlery. I can't fingure out when there due here, but it will be a huge party when they arrive. There are city workers planting flowers all around the platform!!! If you're interested, I am sure there's more information online. The brochure in the bar here has "syndicate" names, the skippers and mates and their "real life" jobs. There's a few doctors, lawyers, a dentist, a butcher, and quite a few"chef d'enterprises" and "navigateurs."

Boy what I wouldn't give to be multi, multi-lingual. If I could be granted one wish it's to live long enough to be transplanted with some kind of "babel" device to make communication with everyone possible. Smiles, raised eyebrows and a wave work pretty good, but when you're hunting for isopropal alcohol, it takes a minute to get across that you are not going to drink it.

I feel pretty removed from my normal life, but there's a crisis in the Arts Commission, so I am feeling torn about not being home. Deena Heath has given notice and will be leaving her post as the director of the commission and the city, nearly bankrupt and struggling to balance a budget...cutting, cutting, cutting...will close her job when she leaves and I am betting it will be years before we can fill the post again. The glory days of spending are over in the US. We really have to rethink our way of life.

It's time to close. Love to you all.