Sunday morning...

The dawning of a new day. I'm still in the little harbour at Sagres. This morning there is wind (but not the right type!) and Aisling bobs and pitches in the swell. I can hear the waves breaking on the near shore against the scrubby cliff face, the backdrop to the sandy beach. Orange of the new sun illuminates all with its early morning blush. The last time I looked at the forecast, the coloured pixels on my smart phone screen told me that I wasn't going anywhere for a while. It's a curious thing to be port bound. I didn't ever imagine on my big adventure, where I saw myself speeding down to the equator, that it would have been quietly shelved in favour of a patient and pleasant wait here in South West Portugal. I'm ok with that, this one thread in the tapestry asks me to wait a while, in a lovely environment, with everything I need, who am I to argue with the bigger picture? When the wind goes down I'll go for a walk on the beach, the soft sand under my toes, I'll go for a swim and try to forget about the huge jellyfish that I saw last night, washed up on the beach, with tentacles of two metres or more! And then I'll potter on the boat. I'm doing jobs that need doing and creating some nice pieces. I have a supply of timber and board and a compliment of tools and fixings. Last night I chatted with a French guy who runs a Dolphin Spotting business. They take people out in a boat and, well I guess they look for dolphins. I was asking him if there was a water tap or a shower in the harbour. "We need showers yes, for a long time I ask for showers. There is nothing here, nothing." He continues with a sense of slight injustice, "And moorings, in the harbour, more places for the boats to come. And good toilets. I ask for all of these things. There is nothing" I see his point. He explains that 2500 yachts pass this point every day, making their way to or from the med, heading out into the Atlantic. I hardly believe the figure he quotes, perhaps per month or per year. And in the greatest tradition of business and commerce, it's an opportunity I'm sure. I can imagine returning here in 5 or 10 years time to a generic marina with all of the facilities. I listen to my French friend. I tell him that not having facilities is what makes this place nice, for me. It is a quiet working port with real people earning a living, mostly harvesting fish from the sea. Young guys in faded denim shorts and old tee shirts, baseball cap, dark skinned, working their craft, doing what they know, to earn a keep. I'm certain they don't earn a lot, but they are rooted to the earth, living, breathing basic honest and simple living. If a development ever comes, those young guys will be the ones cleaning the toilets and hosing down the walk ways, their heritage lost. On this blustery October morning with three yachts at anchor in the bay, everything seems in balance, I pray it stays that way.