On Monday afternoon we were accompanied for a while by the largest group of dolphins we have seen (at least 40). I expressed my amazement as I joined the crew on the bow that this group appeared to be making clicking and buzzing noises just like in Flipper. I couldn’t work out why this amused the others until I eventually realised these were coming from Justin. What a droll lad he is, apparently a favourite companion on trips to the zoo.
Before going to bed I gave Louise a very thorough briefing on the final part of our run to Horta as I knew she would be the one to sight land on her watch. We agreed that she would alter course as required to stay one mile off of Fail until 6am when I woke up to take us into harbour. In the end I woke up earlier and everyone wanted to get up and see our landfall.
Fail is very pretty even in the grey morning light. It looks a bit like Hobbiton in Lord of the Rings, a Crayolla green landscape with tiny fields divided by hedges all over the hills. As you approach the East end of the island there is a narrow isthmus across which you can see part of Horta before rounding the end of the island and approaching the harbour. As we passed an outgoing ferry and rounded the harbour wall Horta appeared fully and very quaint and pretty it is too set on the hillside with painted houses, a castle and marina.
In my mind’s eye Horta was a sleepy backwater visited by a few yachts and existing off fishing and tourism. I thought we’d pull up to the fuel or reception dock, fill the tanks and have a nice berth to ourselves. Our first problem was finding our way through the many yachts at anchor close enough to see that the reception dock was occupied by yachts rafted three deep as was every other scrap of space in sight. After a couple of false starts we anchored not far from the harbour entrance and took the dinghy in to clear customs and speak to the marina staff.
All the formalities were quick and simple, and as a large catamaran was leaving later it was suggested we should get some coffee on land then move the boat to the dock. We went and discovered Peter’s cafe like many thousands of yachtsmen before us and were pleased at getting 3 coffees and a juice for less than 3 Euros. Peters doubles as a scrimshaw museum and yachtie hangout and is covered with insignia, flags and artefacts from hundreds of yachts. In fact the need to make a mark of your being here seems to affect every yacht that visits and most choose to paint a picture on the dockside, buildings or walls around the harbour area. As old ones wear out new ones are painted on top of them. Many are works of art, some are works of too much alcohol.
A visit to the office of tourism set us up with information on tonight’s and tomorrow’s festival activities, so after cleaning the boat and arranging our laundry we set off in a hired car to see the Philharmonic, the illusionist and the folk dancing promised for 7pm. Apparently, times can be flexible on Horta and we had time for some dinner before things got going at 9pm. I don’t know what happened to the Philharmonic as the first thing we saw was the illusionist who hypnotised one person after another for about two incomprehensible hours only leavened by several very strong Capirinas for Jim, Justin and I (Louise was driving) and some nice cake. The next act was a band of people with very small guitars to which accompaniment many of the crowd got up and danced in a way not very different from our country dancing at home. The quality and scope of the entertainment left me believing that the missing act was more likely to be Phil with his harmonica than the orchestra we had expected but the local colour and charm of the event made for a surprisingly fun night and we got back to the boat at 1am.
