Just in case you missed it, here are the pictures of Dauntless, before and after her winter in Ireland.
It was a transformative time!
When I get back to Dauntless in a couple of weeks, it will be time to get her wet again.
Then, just days later, we will take the first steps in our voyage back to North America.
I will miss Ireland. I will miss the friends I made and the people who worked on Dauntless like she was their own. We’ll have to make it back there some day.
|
A few weeks ago, I did another road trip. A quick three-day trip from Lisbon to A Coruna, 720-mile round trip. It made me think about my travels, on land and now, by sea, and reflect on both the similarities and the differences between land and sea.
No, this isn’t one of those crazy dissimilar performance tests that Car & Driver became famous for back in the day.
As my life transitions from land to sea, I still savior those moments on the hard. Driving has always been a joy for me. From my first trans-continental trip to midnight drives around Mt. Rainier in the middle of the night, driving has always been a skill that I continuously honed.
North America provides endless miles, from Florida to Alaska, the dessert southwest to the Gaspe Peninsula, all well-travelled roads for me.
Then Europe provided another whole different experience: unlimited Autobahns, miles of roads through hill and dale at even faster speeds. From France and Spain in the west to Romania in the east and oh so many miles just going north and south from Holland to Italy, a true cornucopia of roads, conditions and cultures. Finally add a few driving schools, including a 4-day school done by BMW driving school at the famed Nurburgring, and being a driving instructor at club events enabled me to further hone my driving skills.
What drove me to do most of these miles, these long trips with quick turn-arounds?
Women of course! Well, maybe not all the time, but…
All these travels were done in the plethora of cars in my life: 3 BMW’s, 3 Alfa Romeos, 3 Jeeps and one Mazda, two motorcycles and many, many rental cars.
The best of the best was my Alfa Romeo Montreal. Built in 1974, never a big seller as Alfa’s only V-8 was introduced just when the first gas crisis was going on, but me oh my, what a car.
She was fast yes, but driving cars well is never about speed. It’s getting the most out of what that particular car could do. She was perfectly balanced and so tough.
That was the Montreal. Perfectly balanced, she had no bad habits. She felt like on rails no matter the speed or the conditions. She went over jumps with aplomb and I’d had her brake discs red hot on a few occasions with nary a problem.
So why have I been going on and on about cars and driving? Does it even relate to boats? Boats are inherently much more complicated than cars. Is that it?
Driving a car well, to the best of the car’s ability and design, is about the knowledge and skill of the driver. Ultimately, a cars performance is a function of what I can put into it.
Last year my Alaska friends, Larry and Karla, joined Dauntless to cruise from Ireland to Northern France. The crossing of the English Channel was rougher than one would like, you know with those seemingly ubiquitous 6 to 10 foot seas that Dauntless also seems to find. Larry later told me he was a bit afraid. But after the first 12 hours he realized that Dauntless wasn’t fighting the seas, she was going with them. No matter how big the wave, the boat seemed to ride along as the wave passed serenely beneath us. Sure we pitched and rolled, but not in a harsh manner, just smoothly like she had been doing it her whole life.
And then my epiphany.
I understood the difference between driving the Alfa Romeo and being the Kadey Krogen skipper.
On Dauntless I am like a passenger. Oh sure, I have my Master’s license and as the Skipper I am responsible for everything that happens on board. I decide where and how to go and to do it in a safe manner.
However, this Kadey Krogen performs.
Just as the Montreal ruled the road; my Krogen does what she does as well, even better. In the last three years, I have done a number of things I would prefer not to repeat. Has it been uncomfortable at times? Sure. Can I sometimes mitigate contrary winds and seas to get a better ride? Yes, I can do that.
But no matter what the conditions or what I do: beam sea, head sea, following sea, etc., my Krogen just does it, with never a complaint, never a groan nor shriek.
I point the boat in the direction I want to go. Boat never says no, in fact, Dauntless says, “Sure, no problem, it’s just another day in the park for me”
And that’s what Larry meant when he said the KK just went with the seas, never fighting the waves, but being one with the environment. She does what we ask. And that’s why I have never been afraid; I’m going along for the ride.
James Krogen is the real driver. He designed and built a boat for people like me who wanted to get off the beaten path in a boat anybody could call home. All I do is point us in the right direction. The Krogen does the rest.
The real motto of Kadey Krogen should be: Performance is Built into Our Boats; She’ll Make You Worthy in Any Sea.
Kadey Krogen said this: “The late naval architect and designer, James S. Krogen, was a master of merging the tried and true with fresh, innovative concepts, creature comforts and convenience. His near-three decades of commercial design gave extra dimension and distinction to his offshore pleasure craft. Outstanding performance is inherent.”
Exactly.
You can visit my blog at: www.DauntlessAtSea.com
And you can track the location of Dauntless at any time at: https://share.delorme.com/Dauntless
While I was stressing about my scratch, I got an email that referred me to this link about Ghost Rider, a Nordhavn 47.
http://mv-ghostrider.blogspot.com/2016/09/08-aug-ghost-rider-down.html
It’s a heart wrenching story; difficult enough to live though, probably even harder to write about.
So that ended my pity party pretty quick.
I had a close call with a submerged jetty in Florida. We’d only had Dauntless 8 months at that point. For something so dangerous, basically a rock wall just under water, the charts whispered Danger, instead of yelling it. I slowed and finally figured it out in the nick of time. It is one of the reasons I now travel with two navigation programs running. When the situation gets complicated a second view is extremely helpful.
The chart data is not incorrect; it’s just our mind is not seeing what it expects. Therefore, it tries to come up with a logical explanation based on its initial (false) assumption. A dangerous false path. A primary cause of aircraft accidents in fact.
And it happens in the classroom all the time, especially in science, even more so in Earth Science. In Earth Science classrooms students are learning concepts for everyday physical occurrences that they see all the time, like phases of the moon or why the sun rises in the east. But long before they step into any classroom, their minds have already developed an explanation. Many times, that initial explanation is incorrect, though logical with a limited number of facts.
A Harvard study looked at this phenome using Harvard students, who presumably had had a good science education just to get into Harvard in the first place. They found that students, even after having been taught the correct explanation for various physical phenomena, generally reverted back to their initial false explanation. In other words, it is difficult to un-teach concepts that have been incorrectly conceived. (This was a major focus of my second Master’s, in Science Education).
Tragedies happen because even in the face of new information, facts on the ground so to speak, we ignore what’s in front of us and keep trying to fit what we’re seeing with our initial explanation.
Earlier this summer, cruising south along the coast of Ireland, we were cruising at night because of the tides and currents. I see a red light in the sky off in the distance. Looking at the chart, the only explanation I could come up with was it looked like a radio tower on land about 10 miles in front of us. I don’t see any other lights, therefore it’s not a boat, otherwise I would see some combination of red, green or white light, at least two out of those three. There was nothing on the radar within 3 miles.
The seas were a bit rough, so we were bouncing around a bit and I attributed the movement of the red light to that, since radio towers on land don’t move. I periodically look at this light for the next 15 minutes. I’m sitting in my usual spot on the starboard side of the bench seat in the Krogen pilot house.
About a minute from impact, I realize it’s a sailboat coming directly at us. I grab the wheel, turning hard to starboard. He passes about 100 feet off our port side. I hail him on the VHF radio, “Sailing vessel showing a top red mast light”. He doesn’t answer, but his light suddenly turns white. Yes, he was moron, but I let him get so close because initially my mind had decided I was looking at a light far away and it then tried to fit that assumption to subsequent facts as they materialized.
Most of the time we catch it in time; sometimes we don’t.
Ghost Rider, RIP
OK, I’m not so young anymore; well at least not physically.
Yesterday, I decided to tackle the laundry basket of papers, books, magazines and miscellaneous stuff that should have been thrown away last year. OK, actually two laundry baskets, plus a few smaller bins.
My bicycle was also part of the melee, the last time I rode it was in Sweden, last September. I really liked Sweden. If I get back to Northern Europe, it will certainly be because Sweden has much of the best cruising grounds in Northern Europe.
Poland intrigues me also, but not for the cruising, but for the people and food. Both wonderfully warm and tasty.
But, now my vision is looking west. And there will be a westward component for a long time to come. So while Sweden is only 2,000 miles away, I’ll probably put 20 times those miles before I get back there.
One of my current homepages is the Atlantic Analysis from NOAA’s Ocean Prediction Center. I don’t spend a lot of time with it, but I do like to check it out every time I am connected to the WWW.
The current map shows the large high pressure area that pretty much lives over the eastern Atlantic. That observation at 29N, 16W is the Canaries. There will be a similar pattern when we finally leave in late November and I should be able to follow that 1020mb isobar for much of the way all the way to Barbados. The Kadey Krogen was born for following seas. She must like her behind being pushed along.
Well the bicycle is attached to the wall as it was two years ago on the east bound passage. Many of the papers have been sorted and put or thrown away.
I’m doing this now because I’ll be Missing in Action (MIA) for the month of October. I’ll be in the USA and Italy, so Dauntless needs to be ready in early November. Leaving the boat for a month in southern Spain is not inexpensive. At this point it looks like my best option is to pull her out of the water and let her be on the hard for 30 days. I had previously not considered this option, but a little mishap in docking a couple weeks ago, made this option very attractive.
Yes, I have a 5-foot scar down the side of the new painted hull. F…ing annoying.
I hardly spoke to myself for days!
Just writing about it is annoying so, that’s all for now folks.
It’s the 112th day since our cruise started May 29th.
Dauntless now sits easily in the Puerto Deportivo de Rota. Her new grey paint scheme fits in well being only a mile SE of the big naval base in Rota, Spain.
We’ll be in this area, between Rota and Gibraltar for the next month, so this is a good opportunity to get my data updated and I’d thought I’d share with you our cruising costs so far this season.
So far, compared to last year, I’m spending about $20 less per day. Overall costs have been about $107 per day, that’s $27 less than last year and almost all of that savings are due to the lower fuel costs. I was able to fill Dauntless with fuel in Ireland at $2.30 per gallon. Upon my return from Scotland in June, I was able to top up the tanks again.
I should be able to get reasonably priced fuel in Gibraltar, but when I top up the tanks in the Canaries, it will be $5 per gallon fuel. I should only need a few hundred gallons; however, the Caribbean won’t be cheap either.
Total guest contributions to expenses have been about 11%; that’s less than last year.
Overall, I am pleased that expenses are staying just below my planned budget. I need to get more proactive about Sponsorships; but that’s another story.
Dauntless will be pretty much stationary until the end of October, as I am going to NY during the first two weeks. Since it will be my last opportunity until spring to visit some friends in Europe, I will go to Italy during the last two weeks of October before returning to D.
I really did not have time to celebrate as we were entering the inlet to Ilha de Coulatra.
Conditions were far from ideal: a two knot current against us, 20 knot winds behind us and ocean depths shallowing from 400 feet to less than 20’; it was not the time to get the cake out.
But Dauntless handled the conditions like she always does with a nonchalance that says, if this is what you want me to do, I’ll get it done.
As you can see from our inbound track, we waggled a bit, but that was the extent of it. We then proceeded to head up the well-marked river channel, only to discover that the marina was full. Now in the USA, we are accustomed to a marina being full. Making reservations, calling ahead are sometimes critical and done pretty routinely.
Instead in Europe, at least in Northern Europe, first talked about in the Cruising Forum and later confirmed by experience over last two years, is that there is always space. And if space is not readily available space will be found. Sometimes that means sailboats will be rafted together two or three deep. For the most part this Krogen escaped that inconvenience because of our large bow rise.
I think this difference in marina culture is more about the culture than anything else. I mean in the north, there is a very evident culture of the sea. Thus seafarers are accommodated pretty much no matter what. It carries over to prices also. Throughout the North and Baltic Seas, marina prices were in the $20 to $35 range; with only Helsinki being out of the normal at $50. Even with the two weeks I was in Helsinki last year, the average marina cost was only $25 averaged over the four months for our 42 foot (12.7m) Kadey Krogen.
This year, as we came south, I expected prices to rise. Prices in the west coast of France were in the $30 to $40 range and that continued into Northwest Spain, Galicia.
But as we turned south, as the temperatures got higher so did the prices. $40 becomes the going rate and other than the little gem of Vila Franca de Xira up the river from Lisbon or the Marina do Freixo, upriver from Porto, everything costs more.
The bigger disappointment however is not so much the prices, but that’s to be expected. Similar to what I noticed along the east coast of the Untitled States, the seafaring culture is alive and well in New England, but every place else it’s simply a commercial venture.
And that seems to be the attitude here.
Certainly I have always shown a preference for the cooler, off the beaten track places, Maine instead of the Bahamas, for instance, but none the less, the No Room in the Inn sign is a disappointment, especially since I must turn around in a small distance in a 20 knot wind.
So in the last weeks I have posted very little.
I have written a lot; but getting it posted is another issue. Issues related to no internet access or most recently just related to my lack of focus.
I try to write all the time, at least every couple of days. But as I re-read my last half dozen writings, I am all over the place. I’ve written about driving in Europe in in the 70’s and 80’s, some of the most wonderful cars in my life, women, countries, Italy, Portugal, and even Dauntless.
But the problem with these writings is that simply that, they are all over the place, so for the reader, it’s a bit disconcerting. One moment he’s in Portugal and all of a sudden in Italy driving through the Alps, 30 years ago!
I wondered why have written so little and so unfocused?
Yesterday, having had a fantastic day with the family of Diogo, my new found Portuguese friend, we got back to the boat and in the ultimate downer after a wonderful day, it was hot and buggy.
Maybe for you in the Caribbean or Florida it would seem pretty good. But for me and D, who have spent the last two years in the north, basking in the sun and breeze that have made Northern Europe the vacation capital of the world, it was HOT.
How hot you wonder?
Good picture this: 30 years ago, my Trevisiana and I went to the beach in Holland in mid-August. I was now stationed in an airbase in the Netherlands and she had come for a short visit. In August, what does everyone do? We went to the beach. In Holland.
Picture this, as we parked the car, we thought it was a bit cool. Luckily, we brought sweaters for that cool night time breeze. As we walked from the car to the beach, we noticed it seemed even cooler than anticipated.
Upon gazing at the beach along the North Sea for the first time, we realized we weren’t in Kansas anymore.
Everyone was wearing overcoats! The temperature was 50F at best. Maybe colder. No wonder the Dutch took vacations in July, when the temperature is up in the 60’s. Clearly winter was over.
So now fast forward 30 years. Remember those stories of Richard and Dauntless being so happy because he had heat on the first of September as he crossed the North Sea?
Remember how the heat percolated up to the pilot house and actually defrosted (demisted) the windows of the pilot house??
So now, only a year later, early September and I’m f…ing melting. It’s 90F at 9:00 and 105F at 14:00. Yes, these are real official temperatures, not the made up crap on TV.
So I’m dying. This is the August in NYC that I have avoided for years. The heat that makes one want to jump into the river and never come out. Now, the industrial foam that goes by four times a day slaked the desire somewhat, but if it was blue water, I’d be all in.
Now, I know you are wondering, why doesn’t he just turn-on the air conditioning? Oh, it would be so simple. Maybe in my old days, you know three years ago, it would be that simple. But now? Having spent the last three summers in the North Atlantic, the North Sea and the Baltic, nothing was simple. Hot weather was this animal that you thought you had tamed. Instead you woke up day to find it eating you.
So all of a sudden, you were dying. You, everyone around you, the world. Dying in a way Al Gore never envisioned.
So being a man of action, I had been thinking day and night of solutions. Dauntless has two air conditioning units. How can we best utilize them? Yes, we do think of the environment despite of Al Gore.
Well, the first step is to get them to work! Yes, read the above; do you think in my jaunts in the North Sea I was running the air conditioning all the time? Or even once?? A Year???
The two A/c units, Fore and Aft, on Dauntless need 120 volt 60 hertz power. Period.
That power is obtained in two ways, from the shore in a country based on 120 v and 60 hertz, like the USA, or from the generator on Dauntless, aka Genny, a square shape, but with hips to get the job done, therefore a beauty in every definition of the word.
So Genny powers the circuits to get the air conditioning units to come on. But in the last few days, since I have entered this inferno, no matter how much Genny implores, both A/C units have ignored her.
The forward A/C did not even wake up, just sleeping though it all, despite my pushing her buttons with the most delicate of touches.
Now, the Aft A/C unit, taking a different tack, was all talk and no action. She blew, blew & blew, but when it came down to it, it was all hot air. I would have died in her mistral if it was up to her.
After having talked to my electrical guru in Florida, David Arnold, a true Kadey Krogen guru, who luckily for us is a well-kept secret only known to a select few, (you did not get his name from me); I set out this morning to at least solve the forward A/C issue, how did she want to be touched that would produce the action I so desperately needed??
Now, the Policy of Truth (actually not, if you listen carefully) demands that I at least tell you the middle man here who was the true maestro. The water pump, who depending on 120 v power was the key to everything. Oh, sure, without him, you can get action for a bit, but within minutes you will realize you are taking a shower with a raincoat on. In other words, No Joy; something ain’t working.
Rewind a few months, as we applied a new International undercoat (anti-foul) to Dauntless’ bottom, I noticed a thru-hull (a water intake) that had been painted over. Umm, I wonder what that was? I dutifully scrapped the old paint off and made sure it was clear. I wonder why I had not noticed?
Now a few months later, Genny, having woken up the forward and aft A/C units, was getting no satisfaction in getting the water pump to do his thing. Was he pouting having been ignored for two years? Did he just get tired of pumping his life for a bunch of women and a clueless owner??
I certainly suspected the latter. So this morning, I awoke with a plan and the first plan was to get mister water pump to put up or shut up.
But first, having this day well planned, after 60 years, I knew a thing or two and the first thing is that everyone needs a little foreplay, some more than others, even the Marina Captain, but that’s another story.
So first I checked the forward A/C and discovered that like on all boats, one thing leads to another. I discovered the containers of spares and tools that were carefully stowed under the helm, had moved enough to disturb the RJ45 connector to the forward A/C unit. This only controlled the control panel, but electrons are so picky these days, it was enough. I spent the next hour making new connections that would not come off in the next storm.
Now it was time to put Genny to work. Poor Genny, neglected in body and soul for months, no years, now she has to put out in seconds or else. Or else what, I won’t change her oil for another year or two??
So Genny never complaining (we’ll just forget about the indiscretion in Maine. But you know those Maine men, one touch, and all is right with the world. Yes, George was masterful, but you would be too if you worked at the Bath Boat Works).
Genny powered up and making hay while the sun shines, I turned on all the breakers for the 120v circuits and the two A/C units.
Like before Aft A/C was blowing air, but it seemed like hot air to me, as in not really putting her heart into it; Are you done yet? As in just the Fan working.
But the Forward A/C was on, awake and actually cool. I felt the water pump, it felt like it was actually working. I ran outside, yes, water was coming out for the first time in years!! What a glorious emission!
I got my IR temperature gun, Aft A/C 75F, Forward A/C 55F. Now that’s more like it.
For the first time in more than two years, at least one A/C was working. I was on a roll. Let’s figure out what’s going on with the Aft A/C.
I felt her all over. Oh she ooh’d and ahd’d, but nothing changed. Her coils were as cold as fish, as was the compressor. Maybe I was too abrupt in the past (sure, maybe in the middle of the night, I turned her on without realizing her buddy the water pump was not along for the ride? I never said she was not kinky! She is older after all and we all want something a little different. She had knobs to turn after all; not push buttons like the little princess, the newer, younger forward A/C.) maybe I boiled off her Freon?
So now I figured I needed to get even more kinky. Both Yes, that meant both at the same time; then one, then the other, in every combination possible and a few that have been outlawed in 28 countries and 8 states.
But mister water pump did not want to play with the Aft A/C. If she wasn’t playing, neither was he.
Umm, I ‘d dealt with this before. I have had cats you know. (maybe one day, I shall have to tell you the story of Yum Yum and Gigi, aka Blackie, aka Stockings, but I digress).
These A/C units had two relays that powered the three units: Forward A/C, Aft A/C and Water Pump. Whenever either A/C unit was turned on, the water pump would come on.
But now it wasn’t.
Easiest step, but also one not without peril, for anyone who knows digital electricity meters, they also know that all those digits don’t mean a thing. So I also had my trusty analog meter along for the ride. Why, you wonder? Because the digital meter will tell you no voltage exists if it doesn’t like the looks of it. The Analog meter has no such rules; she just tells you what is and in this case, it’s enough voltage to kill.
If I die because of the digital meter, who can I sue? OK I digress.
So now, I always check with both meters initially, so I don’t waste HOURS trying to figure out why what is supposed to be there is not when it actually is. Yes, do this at home.
In short order I figured out that of the two relays that power the whole system, one was not working. Therefore, the water pump was only coming on when the compressor of the forward A/C unit engaged.
Once I figured that out, I then tried powering the aft A/C unit and sure enough, it was more than happy to cool off my hot body.
I put a jumper to the Aft A/C directly to the terminal block that runs to the circuit breaker in the salon, thus bypassing the relay. The only issue is that if I want the Aft A/C now, I must also turn on the forward A/C to turn on the water pump.
Problems solved. Now I can focus and write and that’s just the way it is.
We’re Good to Go; but if you don’t like that book, check out “Triad” by the David Crosby and Jefferson Airplane.
A Utube link to Triad
Thank you.
Coming Up:
Dauntless Finds a Real Town
Portugal has been a mixed bag so far. Wonderful, warm people, always trying to help, who sound like they are speaking Russian to my English ear.
But the two largest cities, Lisbon and Porto, coupled with the location of the marinas in those cities has been a disappointment. I know I should know better. My mantra over the years to anyone who will listen is to always avoid the large cities of Europe if your goal is to really see the culture and people of any given country.
Doesn’t matter if you are in Ireland or Italy,
Dublin and Rome are more about the tourists and their expectations than the locals. This became even more evident last year in the Baltic. I saw the same tourists in Helsinki, Stockholm, Copenhagen and Tallinn. Between Ryan Air and the high speed ferries, they transport the same group from city to city. And the effect is that the food and expectations in those places start to look more and more the same.
Much like the street fairs of NYC. They used to be a celebration of the neighborhood in which they were located: Italian in Little Italy, Greek in Astoria, Polish in Greenpoint, etc. But about 20 years ago, the City in a move to further commercialize, tax and regulate, increased the number.
Looked good on paper to the politician’s, 
probably even looked good to the clueless who just arrived in the City from the hinterland, but to New Yorker’s, the damage was done. We now have the exact same vendors every week in different parts of the City. New York, known as a city of neighborhoods, is becoming a city of Blahness. Every place you look looks the same.
OK, moving on.
The above is why I have not written a blog post in the last week. Oh, I’ve written plenty of drafts, I’ve started at least four. But they have all digressed to a point in which even I don’t see the point.
So, ignoring my own advice, since getting to Portugal, Dauntless and I have spent 90% of our time in Porto and Lisbon. And both marinas have been relatively expensive ($45 per day) and a half dozen miles from the
town’s center. People have been wonderful, especially in Porto, where the marina people made me really feel at home and we managed to make a number of new friends.
Now Porto does have different feel than Lisbon, but still.
So, when I found out about a little marina about 20 miles upriver from Lisbon, I jumped at the chance. The home of my new found friend Diogo (the star of another blog that’s yet to be published), Vila Franca de Xira, has been a wonderful little spot.
On the river, attached to a little park and only minutes away from town, it’s like being home; and I just got here.
Numerous cafes, European bars, simple restaurants and an indoor market, full of fish, meat, poultry, vegetables and fruit stalls, it’s the kind of place that makes Europe, Europe.
Very few people speak English, I get by with my few words of Portuguese, a little more Spanish and when desperate some Italian. The other day, for my main meal, which is early afternoon, when the waiter asked my desire, I just pointed to a nearby table and made the international sign for “everything he is eating and drinking”. That sign by the way is waving one hand in a big circle, while smiling foolishly and saying, “Si” (yes).
It worked and ended up with my normal 375 ml white wine, a mixed salad (tomatoes, onion and some lettuce, salt, pepper, oil and vinegar) and a half dozen little flat fishes.
I ended with a café and a grappa like drink.
It’s great to finally be in Portugal.
.
is actually on a Boat!
My first date with my most recent companion/mate was on a bus. Yes, that was the date. We took the Fifth Avenue bus from Greenwich Village all the way to Washington Heights, an hour a half ride. We then got really wild and transferred to another bus to go all the way to the Cloisters in Inwood Park) or possibly that was on our second date).
So of course it was a natural progression for us to get our Kadey Krogen. How so?
Sitting on a bus, not driving, gives you the opportunity to see the world go by. When we moved to the Bronx two years ago, I had the chance to take the MTA Express Bus to Midtown or the Upper East Side. Even after having driven on the same exact route for 5 years commuting to my school in the Bronx, taking the bus was a revelation. I saw all sorts of interesting sights that had eluded me as a driver.
When one takes the train, more often than not, the track is in a sunken grade. So the most one sees are concrete walls with occasional level crossings and stations.
An airplane, if you are sitting in a window seat, as you crane your neck to peer out of the 5-inch window, you may see tops of clouds, or the ground from 38,000 feet. Not a very interesting panorama. Besides, if you are in a window seat, your biggest concern is timing your bathroom breaks to minimize disruption of the row-mates (not to be confused with inmates).
So Planes, Trains and Automobiles are not the best vehicles for watching the world go by.
That leaves Busses and Boats.
Another Krogen owner once remarked that the KK affords us the opportunity to watch the world pass by from our living room.
So true and certainly one of the main reasons when we first saw the KK42, we knew it was the boat for us.
This morning I was in the bus station in Lisbon seeing my nephew off on his way to France for a week before he flies back to Alaska. As I watched the people, I realized that the airlines, especially the discount airlines in Europe, have really given a large boost to bus transportation. When you are being charged $2 per pound for checked baggage and your carry-on bag is the size of a large wallet, what family can afford to travel my plane?
Thus families with kids and the baggage train they entail can travel affordably by bus.
And best of all, they get to actually see the world they are both leaving and coming to.
Can’t ask much more than that.
Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water.
Schengen, that wonderful scheme that allows open borders from the bottom of Greece all the way to the top of Norway. The only European countries NOT in the Schengen area are England, Scotland, Ireland (one of the reasons I kept the boat there), Turkey, Russia and perhaps Croatia.
Everyone else, Schengen (drum roll please).
Now the rules are relatively simple, 90 days allowed for every 180 days. So if you stay 90 days, you must leave and not return until 90 more days have passed. Arriving my air, from a non-Schengen country (all the rest of the world plus the U.K and Ireland) as you pass through immigration, they stamp your passport.
When you leave, they look for the entry stamp and stamp you out. If you have overstayed your 90 days, then the penalty will depend up on the person checking you out and probably most importantly, what side of the bed they got out of that morning.
The penalty for over-staying, a big red stamp in your passport banning you from any Schengen area country for three years. Now with a boat in Europe that would throw a monkey wrench into the works. So that’s a fate I would like to avoid.
Now the rules for boats differ slightly. From what I have been able to determine and am still not 100% sure since I get told different things by different people all the time, boats and those who enter the country on them are treated as they have always been treated. Presumably this means that they treat the boat as always leaving and entering, so theoretically, I should check in at every port of entry in each country.
So while I am diligent, I also don’t like wasting my time. Last year, I traveled by boat through 15 countries. Only in one, the Netherlands, did anyone what to see my passport let alone stamp it. In fact, there was clearly an aversion to stamp anything.
That’s what happened a few weeks ago in France. The Customs people came by the boat, to check its papers and to make sure I had not overstayed the 18-month limit on boats and payment of the Value Added Tax (VAT) which is about 21%. Not chump change, as we said in the day.
They French Customs, checked my USCG Document, and the most important document of all, the original port of entry into the European Union (EU) that took place in August 2014 in the Azores. Now the Dutch in their vigilance, had given me another form. This one based on my August 2014 entry into the EU had an area for a stamp when I left the EU. They also told me that they would enter the information into the big brother computer in Brussels.
Last September (2015) I duly got that form stamped while in Norway to prove that Dauntless had left the EU. Unlike the rules for people and immigration, the customs rules for things and VAT are totally different and separate. But I knew it was a big deal, so I ran around Norway, well maybe not the whole country, but the little city of Kristianstad, where I found a bemused customs agent to stamp my form for me. Did he want a copy? No. Did he want to stamp my passport? No.
Since I have been living this for the last three years, just to clarify, the Schengen Area and the EU are totally DIFFERENT administrative areas. The former is for people and latter for things. Dauntless only had to be out of the EU for one day to reset the 18-month clock.
Now fast forward to France a few weeks ago. The French were very nice and easy going. I had the forms, they gave me another one, presumably to document that Dauntless was back in the EU and they went on their merry way.
But no, sorry, they could not stamp my passport. That was the job of the immigration people, who seem to only hang out at the airport.
OK I figured I get it stamped sooner or later,
So being the diligent little cruiser that I am, I had attempted to get our passports stamped while in Porto. But upon arriving at the office in the middle of town, it looked like the latest refuge boat had just docked. There were hundreds of people on line. I decided to take my chances on the next town.
Figueira da Foz was that place.
When I walked into the Immigration office, no lines, no waiting, a nice reception. The Portuguese Immigration Agent was duly summoned and I explained the problem in my “English for Foreigners” talk.
He had a colleague who was more fluent and that helped the situation. But it was obvious that he did not understand why I was all the way down here and had not gotten my passport stamped in France or even Spain or even Porto.
I put on my best Please Help Me look and hoped for the best.
He then took my documents and went back to his office to have a conversation first with his colleague and then on the telephone with a couple of people. Now I do wish I understood a modicum of Portuguese, though while my reading is almost usable, the sounds they make are hard for my language challenged brain to decipher.
In less than 10 minutes he emerged telling me he had stamped our passports, but he wanted to come to the boat to check my other two guests (they havening just arrived only days ago had their entry stamp so I had decided I did not need to also bring their passports.
He verified their passport information and that was that. I thanked him and he left.
A number of observations and reflections:
Had I not been flying out of Spain or Portugal at the end of September, I would not have bothered.
Last year’s cruise and now this one demonstrate that while a uniform rule is made in Brussels for the EU and Luxemburg for Schengen, counties in general, and marinas specifically, don’t want to hassle boaters.
Lastly, one of the biggest issues is that every agent I’ve spoken to in the last two years is convinced that every office, every agent, every country does it just as they do. It’s simple, the rule covers everyone and therefore everyone is doing the same thing.
Well, the simple fact is that the situation is exactly the opposite. Every country seems to have different interpretations of the same rule. And within countries there is not even a sandcasting of procedures. Thus, when I say, the French did not want to stamp my passport, I get a look like I have two heads.
So today’s mission was successful because unlike in the past, I knew not to tell them what they could not comprehend.
I will also add that in the plus two years Dauntless has been in Europe, having stopped in 100 cities and towns and over 15 countries, my contacts with Customs, Immigration or even just Maritime Police, were rare, only about a half dozen times and each and every time, the officers were kind, friendly and efficient. They have always asked to come aboard and always ask if they need to take off their boots (I always say it’s unnecessary).
In terms of rules and regulations, cruising in Europe could not be easier with less histrionics than I have observed in the States.
By the way, did you notice the similarity between Schengen and Shenanigan? As I’ve said before, I don’t believe in coincidences!
Have a good day!!!
As I have discovered talking to Alvaro and Ana at the Marina do Freixo, Porto, aka Oporto, it is actually Porto. It seems the English, or most likely one Englishman, upon hearing the Portuguese say “do Porto” as in I am of Porto, the English combined the article with the noun, thus “Oporto” was born.
In any case, it’s Porto.
Porto, Portugal, as we know, if only for the strong wine that originates in this region.
First, let me say that in the first day, I discovered a cornucopia of “port” wines that were both red and white in a spectrum of sweetness.
Which just goes to show you, even when you think you have seen everything, like most New Yorkers, you only know the sliver the marketers, want you to see.
I had a wonderful lunch, for me dinner, at the Jimao, 11 Praça da Ribeira. The four small plates I had were as good as I have had in Europe: sardines on toast, morcella and apples, pig cheeks and I ended with panna cotta and a glass of “port” that was not so sweet and more like a rose. These were washed down with a vinho verde, a tinto (red from the region) and a “port” that was almost a rose. All perfect accompaniments.
As I meandered back to Dauntless, about 1 mile up river from downtown, I thought about how fortunate I am.
No matter what travails I have had in the past months, the reality is, I am sitting in my own boat on the River Douro in Porto listening to a classical radio station and writing this blog.
I eat well; drink better and if I had a lament, it’s nice to share great times, adventures, eating and drinking with someone who appreciates the same.
But am I suffering? Please.
As I took the bus back to Dauntless, a picturesque ride along the river, I noticed the dozens of fisherman along the river bank.
Like my father, who would go surf casting on Long Island, these fishermen (and some women) certainly enjoy fishing, but like most before them for the last eon, they also appreciated that what they caught was “meat” on the table and it was free. These aren’t sport fisherman with million dollar boats spending more on fuel and beer than their catch would ever pay for. No, these are real people, doing what humans have done for hundreds of thousands of years.
And now they have the luxury of being able to pass their time in a way both fruitful and enjoyable.
And like most Americans, just trying to get by as best they can.
In every port we have stopped, not a day goes by without someone mentioning our upcoming presidential election. Not a day. My nephews have remarked on this; coming from places in the U.S. where evidently no one they talk with talks about such things. Instead in Europe, Europeans always talk about politics, be it the government of the month or the world as they see it.
Trump is mentioned is the same way one talks about the latest disaster, with a certain gleam in their eye, knowing just the name will bring a reaction: “Did you see that train wreak last week, how could the Italians have two trains on the same track? What about that tsunami, a quarter million washed out to sea!”
What does one respond? “Yes, it will certainly be a speculator train wreak. I have tickets for the first row. I’d be glad to trade them for a few rows further back”. “Oh, I understand. You have to give your cat a bath that day.”
Just like in America, Trump certainly has his admirers, especially in Ireland. Oh those rebels. Europeans are fed up with politicians just like most Americans, but Europeans also have a better view of reality. They see Trump for what he is.
So their conversation really revolves around the theme of “how is it possible you have such poor choices?” The non-politician who pays no taxes versus the professional politician who only pays taxes on those monies given to her for her political favors.
But Europeans respect the USA in ways that can not be appreciated unless ones spends time outside the USA. Those same people who lament our choices, also know that we are strong, don’t put up with BS very long, so will vote the bum out in four years.
Most Americans are just like the fisherman along the river. They are just trying to get by and do what’s best for their families.
Our problem is that our elected leaders don’t have the same priorities.
Summer weather in western Spain and Portugal has the large high pressure area centered west of the Iberian Peninsula over the Azores. It’s called the Azores High.
The fair weather allows a lot of sun, heating up the interior of the peninsula and causing the formation of a so called “heat Low”. That is an area of low pressure caused my intense heating of the ground. Hot air rises, air must flow into this area on the surface to replace the air that is rising. Thus the typical pattern of converging air at the surface, a low [pressure area.
Now, with a Low to the East and a High to the west, we in between are caught in the winds caused by this pressure gradient. Thus as the day gets hotter, the low gets stronger and the winds therefore must increase.
These afternoon winds, hot and dry, then make the numerous forest fires now burning pretty much unmanageable. Last night was the worst here in the last three days since we have been in Baiona. The winds stayed strong all night, keeping the fires going, thus it was smoky all night.
Rinsed Dauntless off this morning, ash is everywhere.
Now this problem is exacerbated by the fact as told to me in broken Spanish and English that the problem in Spain is most of the fires are purposely set and the fire fighters are on strike. Thus the government plan seems to be to wait until winter and the rainy season.
That works.
So later this afternoon we will pull out and head south to Portugal. There they have even more fires burning, but I think they are at least trying to put them out.
Winds died down again, so after a few hours we decided to anchor in the harbor of A Guarda. A very small harbor just north of the border.
As we pulled into he very small harbor, a Spanish flagged catamaran suggested we anchor a few hundred feet ahead of him and we did do with less drama than usual.
Of course, the best part of anchoring is being in your cabin, half asleep, when you feel the boat starting to move as the winds picked up. So at midnight, up again, check everything, we have turned around, but had not dragged anchor.
In fact, we’ve never dragged anchor since I got rid of the CQR and replaced it with a 55# Delta. That’s thanks to Parks (or was it the cat) at Hopkins-Carter in Miami, who convinced me the Delta was as good as any more modern anchor.
But being in a dark cabin, felling the boat movement, if even at anchor, it is easy to convince oneself that the boat is heading out to sea or to land at 20 knots.
Doesn’t matter that Dauntless couldn’t go 20 knots over Niagara Falls.
No, your mind can convince you of anything.
So, seeing all was in order, I went back to bed.
That lasted 10 minutes, until I heard another thump.
Up again, now, I released I had to put the snubber on (when we had anchored the winds were calm).
Though the winds stayed up, the snubber sis it’s job and we pretty much stayed still other than the usual rocking and rolling. By early morning though the smoke was again obvious, so we pulled out into a very hazy, smoky landscape.
As we turned south to Porto, the Atlantic became almost flat, as the winds once again died down and went northerly at 6 knots.
Tonight, I will tie to a dock; Porto or is it Oporto?
Dauntless at Sea 