The No-Wind Day

Well, not exactly no wind, but not a lot, and not very constant when there was. Beth, deprived of waves and wind, and with no transport to go hunting for what probably wasn't there, undergoing paroxysms of frustration, capped by her long and complex text exchange with Michael ending in the reply "I'll swap you". Nuff said. Adam and I lit out for the other Mistral centre where we sat around for a bit until I took out a large beginner board and a 5.0 to practise heli-tacks. Thanks to Frenchman Julian's tips, I eventually made some, by which time I was quite tired. Great result though - so much better awareness of the sail power etc etc and how to control it. Thanks guy.

Interesting example of my tenacity here - stuck at the heli-tack thing, even when I was getting pretty choked off with it. The breakthrough came when I went back to re-fasten the outhaul, that had slipped undone. I practised the move on the land under Jules' instruction, until I did one as a dry run. Then, back on the water, I managed to do one almost immediately, refreshed and retuned with some better idea of what i was doing. A peak of activity and success then occurred, followed by a bit of confusion and frustration when I got tired and couldn't remember which way you're supposed to turn... But the tenacity paid off. Cool.

The Birthday

This morning was a bit complicated - Adam and I had to get the birthday card we'd made last night (prepare picture (B&W), put on memory stick, take into reception, blag printing session from Hertz man, use frame of horrible painting on wood in room as straightedge to cut up hotel brochure for cardstock) signed by Beth, so some sleight of hand required at the breakfast table. Gen very touched :-)

It didn't seem that windy initially today, so we stopped off at the closer Mistral centre to check out their SUP rental etc. Incredibly skinny German girl attendant, no loos, lots of bigger boards. It's right beside the Atlantic resto where we ate last night - good grilled fish, and a very relaxing and not too cheesy "world music' band in the posh hotel across the road, at least for Adam and me. Anyway, ended up at the usual centre, rigged a 5.9 in the morning and a 6.4 in the afternoon, which turned out ok. Not as good as Gen's 6.8 and 145l monster though, but it is her birthday, so she's allowed to come screaming past throwing me off with her wake, literally.

Windsurfing is microcosmic, in the very real sense that it is a complete universe, self-contained, with all the features of real life. I'm tense because it's still offshore, and lighter, even with bigger sail and board. It takes work to get planing sometimes, that involves trading upwind position in the hope of increased speed and thus upwind capability - more tension! Then there are times when the wind is fairly constant, and I'm thinking about life, or sex, or how sunny it is and how barely describably pleasant it is to be gliding along, looking down at the cliched (if it did but know it, but fortunately it doesn't, it just is itself and answers to no man) turquoise water, and those are great. But then the gust passes, and it's time to concentrate, and work on planing again or heading upwind in a different stance. Are those times any less pleasant? On reflection, no, but the actual moments, which I guess I'm living pretty hard since there is no capacity left for introspection, only effort to work the situation, seem less so. The feeling when the board lets go, when the noise and feel change from one of struggling, pushing water out of the way, to one of effortless gliding with the rig balanced, is worth all that. Every time.

So what does that tell me? Only that the world is what you bring to it, and you either leave it behind, or deal with it on the terms you hadn't realised you'd chosen. Blimey, been watching too many Sex in the City episodes.

And I haven't even started on the "windsurfing in bare feet is right up there with the best sex you ever had" line yet...

We Meet the Champ!

Enough talking, time to go sailing! Except Adam's playing it cool, unlike Gen and Beth who are both keener than keen, Beth because she's just mad for it and Gen because there's no way she's going to be able to explain to Juan why she didn't get out there every possible minute. So, after the usual Day 1 hide-and-seek breakfast (where DO they put the bowls? Hmm, where Adam get that cheese? Argh, that Tetleys tea bag was, bleuch, fruit tea! And how do you open the proper tea bags?), we were waiting for Paulo outside the hotel with Beth's gear, debating what the baggage handlers might have done with her missing plastic bag containing her swimsuit bottoms.

Paulo's pickup is pretty cool - a black one. It has lots of stickers and a serious spider's-web windshield crack. Paulo is as cool as his truck, and he drives us through Santa Maria to the Angulo surfstation, which is actually on the beach. The Mistral, where Adam and I have booked, is further back, across the track that leads to the point. Gen gets sorted, r

igs, heads out to practise in the area in front of the station - it's cross-off, and frankly I'm a bit sceptical about the whole idea. She's having fun though, and we get organised with boards, rigging 5.3m North Ices. Time for the new shortle wetsuit too - will it be warm enough? I'm sceptical about that as well...

But it's a great morning's sail - the point has fairly large swell, that jacks up a bit as the tide drops, so it's fun to try to catch it. Not much good for jumping, although I did get a couple of ok jumps - Gen does lots more in the afternoon. Everyone has a good time, and we all make it back, despite it being offshore! Even me. Beth spends an inord

inate amount of lunchtime trying to work out how to use the GoPro Hero-cam, including the extremely comedy "strap-on" facility. The tuna rolls are apparently pretty good, but Adam and I, being outstandingly cheap, make do with the cheese sandwiches we fashioned at breakfast time. The Champ, Josh A is around most of the day, as is his son, a cheeky 5 or so year old, who steals food off one of the local hero's plates, until he gets his own pancake. Lots of dogs, and the music is loud, and the usual surfy crowd eat, do funny handshakes, and josh around with the staff. The wizened lady behind the counter serves me with a bottle of water and a coffee con leche, eventually - the coffee machine needs some help, and the milk is unenthusiastically steamed and UHT.

Back out again, still windy, still wavy, but I'm tired from the morning, and not concentrating. The others are doing ok though, until it's time to come in. The Mistral guys are tapping their feet - it's 4.30, so close to 5! Don't want to be responsible for holding them up from getting on the water ;-). And Josh asked me if I had a good day!

Went out to eat at a fish place - Cafe America? - anyway, it was ok. Then the walk home - accosted by a man with cowrie shell necklaces, who pressed five upon me for my grandkids and every other family member then asked for a consideration for his baby about to be born and the party they were having tomorrow. We ended up exchanging 200ESC for one of them, which seemed fair!

A Long Day!

The 6.34 Reading-Gatwick train, a mix of early commuters, Eastern European ladies and people like me, armed with wheeled monstrosities that refuse to be lifted onto the upper luggage shelf. I read the Guardian, mostly the sports and football running past my eyes and not going in. I'm really not feeling anything, but I put my hat on because it's cold - yesterday's haircut is taking effect. The night turns to day as the trip unfolds, at Reigate there is a regular commuting lineup of readers, listeners and dreamers, and I'm suddenly happy that I'm not going to work anywhere for a bit. Suddenly it seems we're at LGW, slightly early, and I take the robot train to the North terminal, thankful that Trolleys Are Allowed.

As I walk into the terminal, Gen calls, she's just meeting Beth who has arrived with all her kit, and is going to the large objects check-in. The queue to check in is already full, so I join, wondering if I need a ticket, which prompts a check of the envelope of stuff that arrived a while back - yes, there are tickets there, and they seem to want Adam to be present as well at check-in! Fortunately he arrives in the nick of time, and we get a window and middle seat - he's only got 14.5 kg, could have brought the videocam! Our neighbours are impressed by my queueing for both of us and his timing of arrival - if only it were planned we'd be dangerous. The general mood is fairly amiable for a bunch of British queuers.

The airside terminal doesn't seem crowded, and as we walk in they're already telling us to go to the gate - it's one of the ones in the middle of the airport, with the huge bridge spiriting us over planes and tarmac, right into the centre of the field. We don't seem to be waiting very long before it's time to board, right after I've gone back to get some water, of course. The only interesting thing that happens is one of the ground staff gets locked in on the 'plane, and the gantry pulls away, so we're delayed a few minutes while he is found a ladder or steps and climbs out and down. It's much further than you'd want to jump, and I realise I'd not considered this height before!

And the flight passes painlessly. Am I anesthetised? I read the Media Guardian, rattle off the Quick Crossword, mess with headphones and decide I don't care about Ricky Gervais' film character, before running aground on the rocks of the Cryptic Crossword. I pretend to occupy myself with this whilst taking pictures, eating dinner, chatting in a desultory fashion to seat-sharer Janet, ex-teacher and marriage guidance counsellor, traveller and widow of a year. I don't open my book, hurriedly selected by its reviews, or attempt to listen to ipod music. I do check the GPS on a plane, a first, and yes, we're doing 485mph at 35000 feet! Amazing. And the British OS grid doesn't have a reference for somewhere slightly north of the Canaries, which, when they appear, look pretty uninvitingly barren and dark-rocked, a black moonscape set in a tiny gold and white sand and surf strip.

Getting into Cabo we queue for a visa, because it seems we don't have one, even though I applied for one ages ago on the Thompson website. Nick the rep reckons he'll check for my email and we'll get a refund if he finds one. Right. But the best part is dealing with Beth's kit, which takes up lots of space and is pretty heavy, not to say unwieldy when going sideways across the terminal! It gets packed into the wrong coach before we end up putting it in the trailer behind the minibus for the short Djadsal Hotel trip. The rep takes some convincing, but the nylon straps are sufficiently credible for him to risk putting the boards on top of the luggage. OK room, put on shorts, walk to beach, discuss Gen's rental with Anna, strangely wild-eyed Portuguese girlfriend of windsurfing guy who should be running the booth but is currently elsewhere. Walk down beach to far end and Santa Maria, where we see a wedding party, or is it a carnival pre-event? We drink beer on a deck overlooking a chunky break - the waves just sit up and barrel, lovely lovely pleasing shape you want to ride but for the rocks and harbour wall! The sun sets, we talk about families, and Beth's mum's imminent wedding. Time for food - head back to an Italian-style place, pizza and beer. Huge pizza! Walk back along the causeway, Adam and I grace the upstairs bar for half an hour, then we retire. Tired!! It's 10.30, but really later. Tomorrow eh?

Packing, or Why Does It All Weigh So Much?

T-shirts, surely they weigh nothing? I am amazed by the weight of stupid cables and chargers, and even more so by the sheer mass of sun-tan lotion! What's it made with?? I'd have thought Titanium Dioxide would have been light, after all, titanium watches are. I even threw out the heavy heavy but solid sandals in favour of flip-flops. 

Packing matters slightly off-set by the hospitalisation of Jen's dad, Paddy, who was wheeled off to the RBH late last night with very low BP (80/40!!) and lower chest/diaphragm pain. He's had a comfortable night on his saline and anti-bi drip, and Jen's gone in to supervise the moving from A&E to a ward. Picking her up at 2.30 this morning didn't improve the wakefulness either. 

Ah, shopping!

Pootled over to Bray Lake, forgot to take any pictures of the mellow near-spring sunlight across the lake, spilling over the wooden cabin... Nice trip on the R1200GS though. 

Ended up getting an ONeill shortie, they only had the super-stretchy one (Gooru) in S, so no confusion or decisions required! Checked out their shorts and things, but went with a shortie. I now find I could have got it £20 cheaper with planning and mail-order, but then you can't try it on can you? Still, works out at £5/day, even if I burned it after the trip, so that doesn't seem bad.

I also toyed with a pair of Oakley Water Jackets, but since they were £160 even after a stonking discount, I decided it was better probably to eat on the trip instead. I'll use the £2.99 Dunlop ones with a bit of elastic round the back, so when they inevitably bite the dust/sand/sea/airplane seat I won't care. Har har.

It's about time...

OK, it's been 2 years since I last went somewhere hot to windsurf, and now there's only Sat and Sun to go before it's off to Cabo Verde at 6 on Monday. The Green Cape! It's actually nothing of the sort, at least on the island of Sal where the windsurfers go, where it's basically sand. Hey, if I wanted culture I'd go to a mushroom farm, right?

Preparations - cash, gear (renting kit, so only personal stuff, but that's enough), cameras and things, some first aid things... Going to the local shop to see if they have some lightweight wetsuit-like stuff, maybe some neoprene shorts or even a shorty wetsuit, since it looks like it's not actually that hot - 20-23c, which is like a reasonable UK summer's day. Eek! Exciting!