Messing about on the water

Alicante port - courtesy of www.whatalicante.com

In October 2008 I whiled away countless very enjoyable hours mooching around Alicante port, just one of hundreds of thousands of visitors to the Volvo Ocean Race village; departure port and temporary home for the round the world yacht race of the same name. Had I not been asked to cobble together a few words for an English weekly newspaper, the entire event would have passed me by and I'd have been none the wiser, instead I popped along to see what it was all about and ended up hooked. Being somewhat new to it all, I half heartedly enquired about going out on a press boat on the day the fleet set sail and was given short shrift. In the end, my piece made the front page, was reasonably well received, and, to hoots of derision - or the Spanish equivalent - from the girlyfriend I spent the next nine and a bit months navigating my personal yacht, (blessed with her name), around the world in an online game.  

The VOR game - far safer than the real thing

Fast forward then to the next edition of the same event this year, also in Alicante, and guess who was still hanging around like some kind of sailing groupie? Me, and it's safe to say I was looking forward to the new one just a bit too. This time round I was altogether better organised and spent the 72 hours before departure day on November the 5th as excited as a seven year old on Christmas Eve; a state of mind inadvertently caused by Volvo, who, having secured my signature on their legal disclaimer were happy to allow me out on one of the hundreds of boats seeing the fleet off.  In 2008 race day was an absolutely filthy affair, the leaden skies over the entire Costa Blanca were quick to deposit gallons of water on Alicante, most of which was whipped into driving rain by gale force winds. Perfect for top class sailing apparently, but for me in retrospect quite a good day really to stay ashore. For this nervous landlubber, race day 2010 was a much kinder, albeit chilly, affair with blue-ish skies, no rain and decent looking sea conditions. Or so I thought!

Still one of my favourite places

I've only ever been sailing once before in my life, up the River Deben in Suffolk from Felixstowe Ferry to Waldringfield and back on my thirteenth birthday, absolutely loving it. Besides being thrilled by the experience, my abiding memories of that day in 1977 are of wanting to do it again and being extremely cold, so today I was taking no chances. Wrapped up beneath hat, scarf and fingerless mittens I couldn't help but notice how poorly prepared some of my fellow travellers appeared to be as we boarded Kon-Tiki IV, a passenger ferry usually employed to trundle between Santa Pola and Tabarca Island. Once clear of the parts of Alicante port the public rarely see, a real eyesore truth be told, Kon-Tiki IV picked up speed as she cleared the harbour wall and headed out to sea with my clothing choices already paying dividends.

As a spectator sport, sailing is right up there with windsurfing, it matters not how close you are to the action, you're never really certain what's actually going on. It's a hell of a spectacle though and to be a part of it was quite exhilarating to be honest. From my vantage point just level with the start line, the six competing yachts seemed to cruise around rather aimlessly, as 1400 beckoned though everything suddenly became extremely serious. His Royal Highness Principe Felipe, on board a nearby Spanish navy patrol boat, activated the cannon that signalled the start proper, unleashing the beasts who were well into their stride before the ball of smoke generated by HRH had even vanished on the wind.

The inshore race course on departure day

By now Kon Tiki IV was holding station just beyond the start line, deftly manoeuvred by the skillful application of her throttles as all around us spectactor, press and VIP boats jostled for position as the fleet rounded the first mark and headed back to the start finish line to begin one circuit of a tri-angular inshore course. How these million pound racing thoroughbreds can be made to scrub all that speed and execute hair-pin turns in just seconds is incredible to watch at close quarters, that's why only the best sailors in the world need apply I suppose. Forty five or so minutes later, Spanish entry Camper with Emirates Team New Zealand came hammering past for the final time, her gaudy red and white sails leading the fleet out onto the open sea for the beginning of an epic adventure. She was quickly followed by her five rivals with French entry Groupama bringing up the rear a long way distant having had to perform a penalty turn for an earlier infringement.

One by one, Camper, Puma, Telefonica, Abu Dhabi, Sanya and Groupama were chased out to sea by a flotilla of official rigid inflatable boats, (RIB's), some containing photographers and others cameramen, their media duties shared with at least three helicopters clattering away overhead beaming live television pictures around the world. Three hours after casting off, Kon Tiki IV headed back in and my work was done for the day, It sounds simple sitting on a boat trying to write notes whilst loosing off a few shots with a camera, but try doing either when the boat in question is pitching and tossing on an increasingly choppy sea. As I tried to stand upright by planting my feet and bracing myself with my thighs, the grin on my face got wider and wider as each shot with my trusty old Nikon missed its intended target by miles. More by luck than judgement I ended up with a reasonable collection of photographs. What an amazing experience!

Tapas or not tapas

Sangria - rarely drunk by the natives

Mention Spain and it won't be much longer before you'll also pop sun or sangria into the conversation or piece of writing, I've even done the same here myself. Sangria, a kind of red wine, chunks of fruit and dash of whatever hard stuff you fancy concoction, is as synonymous with Spain as Real Madrid or the Costa del Crime. Sun, sangria and sex is the oft quoted phrase which, in the opinion of many, typifies Spain perfectly. This may well be absolutely correct for say, Magalluf during August, but there's vastly more to Spain than getting sunstroke, drunk or incapable and your leg over a random stranger.

Something else the natives don't do

For visitors or permanent residents not forming part of the 18-30 set giving resorts up and down the Spanish coast a bad name, sun and sangria, (derived from the Spanish word for blood - sangre), are more often than not joined by a newcomer tapas. The noun tapas represents the huge variety of small snacks and appetizers, served hot or cold, to accompany a small beer or glass of wine that together can be taken at any time of the day. Quite often, the bars and cafeteria's with their fingers on the customer service pulse offer a small bowl of olives or mixed nuts free of charge when serving drinks. Items such as these typically feature somewhere near the bottom of the tapas food chain, which depending on how much you're willing to pay, can stretch to one or two quite exotic specimens.

Handy

For certain visitors to Spain whose sartorial elegance rarely stretches much beyond a jesus creepers and white socks combo, a plate of chips with ketchup and pint of Heineken is a perfectly adequate way in which to get fed and watered whilst enjoying a few rays. That was me too when I first arrivded here in 2006, minus the footwear of course. Back in the day I quickly figured out the words for chips, (patatas fritas), and beer, (cerveza), and was soon well away in my new home. A very small blunder soon changed that though and by accident opened up a world of interesting and alternative eating options. My mistake was to order "patatas bravas" and expect chips; shortly after I was served something much nicer, a large helping of irrugularly shaped, cooked spuds smothered in a hot and spicy tomato based sauce. I had just given away my tapas virginity.

Nice one Garçon

Stories abound concerning where and how tapas originated, just pick which one you like, many though can be taken with a pinch of salt, the likliest explanation is a variation on the following theme. In the "olden days" when folk went around dressed like Blackadder, Spanish King Alfonso the 10th was travelling on horseback through   the south of the country and stopped for a comfort break at an inn near Cádiz. Just as his wine was being served, the wind got up bringing with it grains of sand from nearby North Africa. Quick as a flash the alert waiter, probably fearing for his head, covered His Majesty's goblet with a small plate, on top of which he placed slices of ham. Thus, allegedly, was born a popular Spanish tradition which has survived to this day. Tapas incidentally, comes from the verb tapar meaning to cover.

History and language lessons over, I'll bash on. Not only has tapas survived it's also thrived and is a popular money spinner, especially for many, many small bars and cafeterias, some of whom offer a gottle o' gear and a tapa for as little as 1.50€. Splendid value if you're a tad peckish just before tea-time or on the way home from work.. An equally pleasant way to spend time and a few more euros is to forego the typical menu and share three or four different small plates from the list of tapas, in one or two of the larger establishments, these can run to two or three pages.

Come to Spain and miss out at your peril.