Adventures In Belize - Day Six

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

      A few sprinkles during the night woke me long enough to close the overhead hatch, but we slept soundly. This morning the wind has picked up to a brisk 16 knots, and the dark blue open water is highlighted with lots of small whitecaps. Today the plan is to sail south to Ranguana Cay.

      John loves the autopilot. It is an amazing piece of electronic wizardry. Coupled with the GPS chart plotter, you can move a cursor on the chart screen to a place on the map, push a button and the automatic steering will keep you exactly on course to that destination. Other buttons at the bottom have easy to understand functions. Push the button on the left side that is labeled one degree, and the rudders will turn a bit, the bow of the boat will come one degree to the left or port side, and then straighten out on its new course. If you push the button labeled ten degrees, the new heading will be ten degrees to port. The same is true for the left. A push on another button lets you take over manual control of the wheel. We stayed on autopilot for most of the eleven miles from South Queens Cay to Ranguana.

      We kept a lookout posted in the bow most of the time to watch for changes in the color of the water ahead from the deep cobalt blue of deep water to the lighter blue that indicates that the bottom is closer to the surface. Correlating the shade of blue to the reading on the depth meter is an easy learning process. Before long I could look ahead, see the color of blue, and realize that I could proceed at our cruising speed of 5 knots, and didn't have to go slowly to avoid running aground. Other areas of lighter blue were indications that we might have to push the autopilot ten-degree button to the left twice, to make a twenty degree deviation from our course to thread our way through a deeper channel between two shallow banks of coral.

      John gave me the helm about halfway to our destination, and I enjoyed playing with the autopilot, although I would have had the wheel on manual had I been making the decisions. Eventually I did take it off auto to pilot the boat manually for the last two miles, swinging wide to the south of the cay to a way-point marked on the navigation map, and then approaching the anchorage slowly to motor close by one of the boats already anchored there. I made a tight 180 degree turn to bring the bow into the wind halfway between the two boats at anchor. Sheila dropped the anchor in ten feet of water, and I put the engines in reverse to back up slowly to a point where all motion stopped, and we were certain that the anchor was holding.

      We went ashore in the dinghy, paid our $10 a head fee for unlimited use of the island and anchorage, and also put in an order for dinner at the small shack that served as kitchen for the restaurant, a coconut frond thatched open sided palapa with picnic tables that served as a dining room. For a few minutes we watched a film crew setting up a shoot about the island for showing on The Wealth Channel.

   Back on the boat, we all donned our diving gear, and slipped over the side into very clear, warm water. the sea floor, only eight feet below was covered with sea grass. We floated lazily along, looking at small fish, conchs, and then a beautiful thirty inch wide spotted ray that flapped its way across the grassy bottom.

     We soon came to a submerged sand bank where very little was growing, although we did see a big gray ray with its wings undulating as it made its way across the empty expanse of rippled sand. At the far edge of the sand bank we began to see bunches of low coral heads, sea fans, and brain coral, about which hundreds of small colorful fish darted in and out of hiding.

 

Back at the boat again we rinsed off the salt water, dried, changed clothes to shorts and shirts, then motored back to the dock in the dinghy again at six o'clock to return to shore for dinner. The structure may have been crude, but the dinner was elegant...lobster curry, coconut rice, Belikan beer, and then a wonderful coconut pie for dessert.

      At was seven o'clock by the time we finished, and down at the short pier the night was dark as black velvet. John's forehead flashlight came in handy as we scrambled into the dinghy for the trip back to the boat. It's nine p.m. now, and I'm the last one up.

     The wind has died to almost nothing. The surface of the anchorage around us is so smooth it almost seems like the boat is suspended between ocean bottom and the heavens. Small waves chuckle against the bottom of the dinghy and the "Lovely Cruise" pitches gently, bow to stern. Time to sleep!

Adventures In Belize - Day Five

Monday, October 15th, 2012

   After a hearty breakfast of pancakes, we slipped the mooring lines, swung about, and headed due east under engine power for the short trip to Queen's Cays, a national marine preserve. 

     We changed course slightly to avoid a lighter colored patch of shallower water, and then swung around to approach the southernmost cay heading upwind. We dropped the anchor in 25 feet of water, and after a few moments it took hold, bringing us to a stop twenty or thirty yards from two other sailing catamarans already at anchor.

     Queen's Cays, also known as Gladden Spit or Silk Cays is an extended area of very shallow reef where the surf breaks, at times awash at low tide. There are three very tiny islands stretched out in a line over about a half mile. 

     The southernmost where we and the other boats were anchored has exactly ten short coconut trees crowded onto a cay that couldn't be more than two hundred feet long and a quarter that width. It also has one barbeque pit, and a small shack with men's and women's flush toilets. The cay is also manned during the day by park rangers who are supposed to collect ten dollars for each crew member aboard every boat that visits.

     Jane stayed aboard while John, Sheila, Ruth, Mary Anne, and I dinghied in to the pale green shallow water on the east side of the cay to go snorkeling. I talked to one of the rangers who informed me that the next cay, about five hundred yards to the north is a good place to land a small dinghy, and has excellent snorkeling. The third cay, another five or six hundred yards north of the second is a sanctuary where birds are nesting, and that nobody is allowed ashore there.

     The sandy bottom is only about two or three feet below the surface, very gradually sloping out to deeper water. Millions of silvery inch-long fish formed a dense shimmering layer a few inches about the bottom, parting around me and joining again behind as I floated along.

     The transition from sand to dense populations of sea fans and soft corals was rapid as I swam toward deeper water. Although the water was a bit cloudy, I enjoyed a good hour of watching the many kinds of fish, and taking underwater pictures and video.

     Just after noon, a long open boat with a powerful out board motor on the back, and the words "Nature Reserve Ranger" stenciled on the bow approached our boat as it lay at anchor. The two rangers I had seen earlier on the beach cooking about two dozen chickens on a barbeque grill were aboard, and waved to us. They had come to collect the park fee. They said that the quoted price of ten dollars per night, per person was incorrect, and that it was a one-time charge only. We could stay as long as we liked, but that if we left and then came back again the fee would be collected again. After handing one of them the $60 for the six of us on board, the ranger said, "Well, I only have four tickets, but I can bring you the other two tomorrow if you are still here."

            This was not difficult to figure out. If they had collected sixty dollars, but had to show the sale only four tickets when they reported to their office, they could pocket a nice 33% personal profit on the transaction. John was of the opinion that they likely made only a pittance in salary, and said nothing as he handed them the full amount. They handed him the four tickets, gunned the outboard in a sharp turn, and instead of heading back to the cay, raced off straight toward the deep ocean waters to the east, probably to spend the rest of the day fishing. Although the cruising guide book said that the Queens Cays are manned twenty-four hours a day every day, we have not seen a ranger presence since.

     After lunch on board we watched two sailboats pull up anchor and head out, leaving only one more sailboat lying at anchor with us. A solitary dolphin surfaced a few yards away, took a breath and submerged again, coming up one more time farther away before disappearing.

     The wind picked up a bit in the afternoon, and far off to the west a dark bank of clouds appeared. We decided that an afternoon snorkeling trip should be done sooner, rather than later. This time Ruth and Sheila stayed aboard while the rest of us stumbled aboard the pitching dinghy, and headed for Middle Queens Cay. 

     Approaching the shoaling water from the southeast, the foot and a half to two foot high swells looked a bit to intimidating, and John swung us around to head back to the South Queens Cay where we had gone swimming in the morning.

     The choppy waves were washing across the shallows, but we hopped overboard onto the white sandy bottom in three feet of water, taking the tiny anchor out thirty feet from the front of the dink. Its short eight-inch hooks would not hold in the soft sand, so I dropped it behind a small head of dead coral.

     Although there is only a foot and a half difference here between high tide and low tide, this afternoon there was less clearance between the surface of the water and the tops of the sea fans and soft coral. That, combined with the larger choppy waves sweeping across the reef made it feel as if you would be deposited on something unpleasant with each dip into a wave trough.

     John and Mary Ann struck out for deeper water immediately. Jane floated in three to four foot deep water for awhile before deciding that it was just a bit too uncomfortable. As we headed for the tiny beach I saw that the dink anchor had slipped, and was dragging toward the beach, so I retrieved it and reset the anchor behind a larger coral head.

     We ambled out onto the short sand spit at the southwest end of the tiny cay, watching tiny hermit crabs scrabbling their tracks across the damp beach while they avoided the inch-wide holes where ghost crabs appeared every few seconds to toss sand from their excavated burrows.

   The diner of chicken casserole prepared by Sheila, Mary Ann, and Jane was served on deck, and we spent the evening there chatting. The sky was partially clear by eight o'clock, and we spent some time looking at constellations and the gauzy arc of the Milky Way stretching high across the sky.

Adventures In Belize - Day Four

Sunday, October 14, 2012

     A day much like Saturday, our second day at Hatchett Cay. Waking up as the first light began to brighten the glass hatch and ports of our cabin, I got up and climbed out on deck to watch the sun rise out of the sea at 5:45. It is delightful to be reminded just how pleasant just sitting and observing the evolution of the day can be.
    I noticed one of the Hatchett Cay workers sitting quietly in the dock house, watching the sunrise as I was. Pelicans appeared from wherever pelicans spend their nights, and began to patrol the shallow waters close to the cay, looking for breakfast. The clouds displayed an evolving minimalist symphony of colors, shapes, and movement. They changed from dark shapes rimmed with silver, the highest cumulonimbus tops first turning pink, then peach, and then at least fifty shades of gray and white as the sun climbed higher.

    A finch with bright yellow feathers on each side of its tail flip-tipped its wings and stopped for a moment's rest on the jib sheet before flitting off again. A few dozen little silver fish, each no more than two inches long leaped out of the water and plunged back in again simultaneously, their bright sides flashing in the early morning sunlight. A few minutes later I saw them leap again, this time synchronous with the leap of a three foot long barracuda in hungry pursuit.

     All six of the group scrambled into the dinghy after breakfast for a trip back to the cay. Donning swim fins, masks and snorkels, we all floated again above the graceful sea fans, coral, and multitudes of fish for an hour, and then walked around the tiny island. 

     This time we stopped on the invitation of the manager to climb stairs three stories to a lookout tower on the top of the main building, where we had a beautiful 360 degree view of Hatchett Cay and other cays scattered in the distance.
    After lunch back on board Jane and I motored over to the dock for one more dive session before coming back to spend the night at the same mooring. Late in the evening (which means about eight o'clock when cruising!) the cloudy sky cleared, and Jane, Sheila, Mary Ann and I went out of the forward deck to look for stars and constellations.

      The Big Dipper was too low to see, but Cassiopeia was high in the sky, pointing the general direction to the North Star that hovered, just barely visible only sixteen degrees above the horizon. Cygnus had its wings spread across the Milky Way, which arced high overhead horizon to horizon. As we looked at Jupiter high in the western sky a meteor flashed briefly orange against the blue-black sky.

Adventures In Belize - Day Three

Saturday, October 13, 2012

    Heavy swells and a strong wind kept "Lovely Cruise" rocking from side to side most of the night. Sunrise this morning was at 5:45, and when I came up on deck a few minutes later the sun was just above the low vegetation of Wippari Cay, turning the whole expanse of eastern sky tangerine orange. The sun itself was thinly veiled by a narrow veil of heavy rain falling in the distance.

    Eventually everyone was up for a leisurely breakfast of bacon and eggs. We got on the VHF radio briefly to report our position to the Sunsail base, and cast off from the mooring sometime between nine-thirty and ten.
    We headed back south along yesterday's track with the wind at our backs for a short distance before turning due east and setting a course for Moho Cay, a few miles off. There were several times when we slowed to ease our way cautiously through much shallower water where coral banks approached the surface. 

      Passing just north of Moho we came to a wide stretch of open unobstructed water, and finally hoisted the main, unfurled the jib, and turned off the engines to sail on a close reach across the north winds.
    The weather was improved considerably over yesterday's, the seas and winds both diminished to comfortable levels, with mostly sunny skies. We dropped the sails as we neared Hatchett Cay, swinging around to approach it from the south, and easily picked up the mooring ball on the sheltered southeast side of the island.

     Hatchett Cay is small. John and I took the dinghy and motored over to the dock, a few hundred yards from our mooring. We tied up next to the large open sided dock house that marked the end of a long low pier. In the clear shallow water below the pier we could see patches of white sand and expanses of coral. We walked to the foot of the pier where there was an immaculate little cottage nestled beneath small coconut palms on the very edge of a narrow white sand beach at the edge of the water.
    A red concrete pathway meandered off both to the right and left. We turned left and strolled along past coconut palms, hibiscus, plumeria, and other bright blooming flowers. Passing several other cottages at the edge of the water, we came to an elevated deck under the palms, with a bar at its edge. A workman was on hands and knees, varnishing the weathered hardwood. He informed us that neither the bar nor the restaurant was open, and that they were getting ready for the start of the season. On October 17th they planned to reopen the bar and small restaurant, and the cottages should be ready for guests the following week. I realized that the dates coincided with the projected end of the hurricane season.
    We continued our walk, winding around the windward side of the cay, where wind-whipped waves surged across the shallow waters to splash mini-surf along the beaches. A total of perhaps ten minutes walking brought us around the entire circumference of the island and back to the pier where the dinghy was tied. We climbed on and made out way back to the catamaran to report our findings.
    Sheila, Mary Ann, and Jane all wanted to go see the coral formations near shore so the three of them, John, and I loaded masks, fins, and snorkeling gear into the inflatable dinghy, and we motored the hundred and fifty yards to the end of the dock on the lee side of the cay.

 

    A lower section at the edge of the dock provided a good place to tie up and unload, and there was a ladder down into the water to make it easy to climb back out again.

     The windward side of the island and out in deeper water where the catamaran was moored had an incredible amount of garbage drifting past, both on the surface and underwater, but the lee side seemed to be clear. 

      Floating on the surface of the warm, clear water we looked down ten or twelve feet to a spectacular landscape of sea fans and soft corals, waving gently back and forth as the small waves passed many feet above them.
    The soft corals looked almost like brown velveteen many branched plants, and on close examination revealed that the fuzzy appearance was the presence of thousands of individual coral polyps all living together as a growing, living colony.

     The sea fans, each anywhere from six to as much as twenty-four inches tall, and often a bit wider, reminded me of delicate Belgian lacework. Some were a light gray, some were brilliant purple. Only a few fish were visible as we swam slowly on the surface, but we soon discovered that if we stopped moving and floated motionless, more and more fish would appear from hiding places in the reef. Hundreds of colorful fish of all kinds darted about between and under the fans, nibbling at the bottom, patrolling territories, chasing each other, or wandering through the coral forest.

     After swimming we all climbed back up on the dock to sit on the long rattan couch in the shady dock house for awhile before climbing back into the dinghy for the short trip back to "Lovely Cruise". 

     In the evening we sat on deck to watch the sun set behind distant banks of clouds.

Adventures In Belize - Day Two

Friday, October 12, 2012
    To say that it rained several times during the night would be like comparing the flow of the Mississippi to the flow of a creek. Thunder rumbled, the wind whistled through the rigging, and the rain dashing down against the fiberglass deck and sides of the boat sounded as if someone had focused the stream of a fire hose on us. Loud, but steady, the white noise lulled us back to sleep as it tapered off.

    At about a quarter to six the light began to brighten the glass hatch directly over my head. I slipped into a pair of shorts and padded softly up to the deck. The sun was just rising behind towering cumulonimbus clouds to the east, highlighting the edges of their cauliflower tops with brilliant silver. I strolled down the deserted concrete dock where other thirty-eight foot and forty-eight foot catamarans sat empty.

    Where the dock ended there was a little sandy cove where a small heron sat on a low mangrove branch, watching for breakfast to come to him. Beyond, a dense thicket of mangroves stretched off along the shoreline. I waded into the clear water with silent apologies to the bird, who flapped off to look for a more solitary fishing hole.      

    The water was only a bit less than body temperature, cool on entering, but feeling sensuously warm once in. After a short dip, I wandered back to the still deserted marina building, where I found open bathrooms with warm showers where I washed off the salt before heading back to our catamaran, the "Lovely Cruise".

   Nobody else was yet awake, although it was close to seven o'clock. I went back to bed for a short snooze, waking a little later to the enticing smell of coffee brewing. One by one the others appeared, and we ate a leisurely breakfast at the table on the stern deck together.
    At half past nine, we were met at the boat by our Sunsail mentor for a walk around briefing on lines, halyards, reef-points, diesel engines, water and waste systems, and all the various mechanical things we needed to know about the boat.

    By ten-forty-five we had started the dual engines, and the marina pilot had slid the catamaran out of its slip, made a sharp right turn, and threaded the narrow slot to open water. He stepped off into the hard- bottomed Zodiac that had been shadowing us, waved good-bye, and we were on our own at last.

    The captain's chair, a bench big enough for two people side by side, sits high at the front edge of the stern deck, looking over the top of the salon cabin. Next to the ship's wheel there GPS chart plotter and a vertical bank of instruments that show information about wind speed and direction, depth, and speed of the boat. There is also a floating magnetic compass and the controls for the auto pilot.
    The Sunsail base is on a narrow spit of land facing a shallow lagoon, and we had to steer carefully from way-point to X-marked way-point for the first half hour to stay in water deep enough to allow passage. We eventually passed all eleven marked way-points, reaching the open water between the mainland and the barrier reef far offshore.
    In addition to the GPS chart plotter we had been given updated paper charts and two inch thick Cruising Guide to Belize and Mexico's Caribbean Coast, with specific cays and hazardous obstructions charted in greater detail. Our first encounter on our route toward the north east became apparent as a broad area of lighter blue water that marked a bank of coral reef very close to the surface. We adjusted course slightly to motor along parallel to it, soon leaving it behind as we approached Lark Cay.
    As we cleared the north end of the cay we could see the small green patch of trees that stuck up from Logger Cay and South Long Cocoa Cays a few miles behind that. Safely past Logger Cay and its surrounding coral heads, we altered course a bit more to the east.

      There were many spots where we became more cautious as we observed areas where the water was a much lighter shade of blue, marking shallower water. At one point we slowed the engines and proceeded with extreme watchfulness as the depth meter numbers went from over a hundred feet to forty, then twenty, and eventually a bit less than ten feet before passing over the submerged reef and passing into deeper water again.

    We took a wide curving course around the spot marked on the charts as Viper Rocks, swinging to the north and then the northwest as we approached Wippari Cay, our destination for the day. The seas had been running five to eight feet since morning, so it was a relief to be approaching a mooring.

    As we covered the last quarter mile, the dark wall of clouds that had been gathering to the north began to sweep toward us, and it began to rain. It was only a sprinkle at first, but quickly increased to heavy rain as the wind speed increased.
    We eased up on the mooring buoy, but the wind veered the bow at the last minute, and we could not retrieve the mooring line. Turning in wide circle we came around again, heading into the wind that was now blowing harder. The rain fall turned into a violent deluge, beating down the crests of the waves as nearby bolts of lightning added to our anxiety and urgency. The next attempt to snag the mooring line with a boat hook was successful. 

      By the time all lines had been secured and the engines turned off everyone was soaked and taking gleeful showers under the cascades of fresh water gushing off the edges of the hard roof covering the stern deck. 

     That is, all except Ruth. I found her sitting on the deck next to one of the benches, holding a washcloth to her left shin. Blood was seeping through the cloth.
    As the heavy downpour had started, Ruth had begun to make her way toward the shelter of the inside cabin. As the boat pitched and rolled, she grabbed a hand hold for balance. Unfortunately the handle was on the sliding glass door, which was not locked in place. It slid, and Ruth fell to the deck, lacerating her leg on something as she went down.
    I examined the wound, which was almost four inches long, and deep enough that the sides were separated by at least a quarter of an inch. I tried to pull the edges together with some adhesive tape that someone handed me, but it was soaked, and would not stick. I got some paper towels and applied gentle pressure to slow the bleeding while others searched for the first aid kit. Jane found some regular band-aids, and Sheila came up with a gauze bandage that had an adhesive edge all around it. John found in his emergency supplies a tiny bottle of super-glue gel.
    I removed the ineffective tape, one strip at a time, blotted the gash until it was dry at the edges, and gently pulling the two sides together, applied the super-glue gel to the cut. I cut one of Jane's band-aids in half the long way, and placed it tight across the middle of the wound to hold it closed. I applied the super-glue gel to the upper half of the cut, and then covered the whole thing with the large adhesive bandage that Sheila had supplied. Ruth said that she felt fine an hour later.
    I have no recollection of what we ate for dinner that evening, but everyone was in bed before eight thirty. Distance covered today: 17.3 miles.

Adventures in Belize - Day One

Thursday, October 11, 2012

    The radio turns itself on and begins to play some unidentified classical piece at exactly 4:30 a.m., but I've already been awake for perhaps five minutes, my internal clock outpacing the electronic one, interrupting dreams of cobalt blue waters and warm, moist breezes.
    By the time we've tossed duffels and backpacks in the back of the car, left our forested neighborhood and traveled mostly empty highways through downtown Richmond the sky is beginning to show the first hints of dawn. A waning crescent moon, its horns curving upward, looks like a tilted grin. Venus, a brilliant beacon in the east, marks the subtly shaded boundary between night and morning.

    Our flight leaves promptly at 7:10, curving into the bright sunlight in a graceful arc away from the chilly city, heading for Miami. Our bags have been checked through to our destination, so there is little to do while we wait for our next flight, but stroll along the concourse marveling at the amazing array of unnecessary services and souvenirs offered for sale, or sit and talk while trying to ignore the ubiquitous overhead TV monitors and over-enthusiastic news anchors narrating unpleasant news with practiced smiles.    It was interesting to see the city of Miami sprawled beneath the wings of the plane as we headed out on the next leg of our trip, but the vegetation didn't look as green, the water as blue, nor the buildings as bright as the super-saturated colors we're used to seeing on CSI Miami. After climbing to altitude and heading south-southwest over the Gulf of Mexico, I dozed off. It seemed like a short time until the pilot announced that we were beginning our descent to Belize City. 

    As we sank through each thin layer of clouds I could circular rainbow with the shadow of the airplane in the center. Far below small islands and cays glowed like emerald gems, scattered across a colorful variegated expanse of pale sky blue, robin's egg blue, morning glory blue, and azure blue banks and shoals of water.
    Belize City is only sixteen degrees north of the Equator, and as soon as the doors of the plane were opened we were immersed in the soft warm air of the tropics. Time to shed heavy denim, fleece sweaters, shoes and socks for shorts, T-shirts, and sandals!
    Our final flight leg today was on a ten passenger twin engine plane, John Leckie occupied the right hand seat next to the pilot, and I shared the bench seat at the back of the aircraft, stretching my legs luxuriously out straight with unlimited space.
    We surged down the runway, the roaring engines propelling us forward only short distance before the plane seemed to leap into the air. Staying low, the pilot banked to the left out over the water and then made a second turn back to the right and began to descend again. Looking out the window, I could see that the plane was lining up with what appeared to be a narrow path paved with yellow gravel. Dense vegetation crowded in from each side, and the road ended at the edge of the water, just a few hundred yards from its beginning.
    Before I had a chance to worry the wheels touched pavement with a squeal, the turboprops revving briefly to full throttle in reverse, and slowing, the plane made a quick hundred and eighty degree turn at the end of the runway only feet from the edge of the lagoon. There was short pause in front of a tiny office building while a few packages were unloaded and replaced with others, one person off and two more on. Within minutes the plane was taxiing back down to the end of the tiny runway to face into the wind for another leap into the air.

    Before long we were lining up on another equally intimidating narrow strip, ready to plunge toward certain, bone-crunching impact that changed at the last second to a gentle touch down and hard application of brakes, and we were on the ground at Dangriga for more unloading of packages and a couple of more passengers. Then off again for another short hop, and another similar landing at Placencia, our final destination.
    We stepped to the side of the small shack that serves as the airline terminal, and waited in the fragrant shade of a plumeria tree while our bags were unloaded. An eager taxi driver, fortunate enough to have a decrepit van capable of holding six people plus luggage was happy to collect six dollars from each of us to load us and our belongings and rattle off down the road to the Sunsail Marina.

    We spent an interesting hour in a meeting room with one of the Sunsail employees, taking lots of notes and talking about navigation charts, anchorages, islands and cays, dangerous reefs, and radio protocol before heading down the pier to our 38.5 foot Robertson and Caine sailing catamaran, home for the next nine days.

Heading Home - Day 15

Tuesday, September 20th

          A brisk start for a very long day...up and in the taxi early to arrive at the airport in plenty of time for a 10:45 flight direct from Barcelona to Philadelphia.

          What can you say about a trans-Atlantic flight? 
     We sat. 
     It went. 
     We watched a movie. 
     We dozed. 
     We ate. 
     We watched another movie. 
          Craning my neck to look out the window at 40,000 feet I could see high overhead a lovely waning gibbous moon floating in the dark cobalt blue of the sky.

           Landing. Customs. Immigration. My passport gets stamped. A two hour layover in Philadelphia. The final leg from Philadelphia to Richmond.

          The angle of the six o'clock sun on the flight from Philadelphia to Richmond is such that it reflects back up to the aircraft from the surface of scattered waters, transforming rivers to silver ribbons, lakes to melted metal, and ponds and puddle to stars that flare and fade. The upper reaches of the Chesapeake Bay becomes and expanse of filigreed gold with traces of eddies, currents and the wakes of ships clearly visible, the marshes and wetlands appearing as glowing complexes of writhing roots and obscure Celtic etchings.

          Overhead the gathering clouds send beams down through gaps, a second layer of gray appears below as the plane begins its lurching dance toward a distant runway and home.

Barcelona, Spain - Day 14

Monday, September 19th

          After the included breakfast at the Caldonian Hotel. We took a taxi with Bill and Miriam to Mercat de Sant Josep de la Boqueria,  more often referred to simply as La Boqueria. This huge open air market has been a favorite both with tourists and with city residents.

           Although there must surely have been open air markets as early as 15 B.C. in the town that was to grow into Spain's second largest city with a population of more than 5 million, the present Boqueria was not completed in its present location just off La Rambla until 1853.

           In just the small section we were able to explore we were impressed by the variety of foods artistically arrayed in colorful geometric patterns.

           Leaving the market, we rambled down La Rambla, one of Barcelona's most charming features. A broad avenue, shaded by overspreading plane trees, is given over primarily to pedestrian use. Narrow automobile traffic lanes run down each side of the wide central section where vendors' booths sell an incredible range of goods. 

 

     News stands, pet supplies and pets, bird vendors, fresh vegetables, books, clothing, shoes, candy, displays of tourist trinkets compete for attention with buskers playing music and performance artists attired in amazing outfits holding as still as statues, waiting for the clink of a coin in their collection to animate them.

 

         We took a side street off La Rambla toward the Barri Gòtic, the oldest part of the city where many of the buildings date from medieval times, and some as far back as the Roman settlement of Barcelona.

 

          Eventually we found a bus stop on the Red Line, and climbed to the upper deck for a ride to La Sagrada Familia, a Roman Catholic church designed by Antoni Gaudí, and perhaps the most famous Barcelona landmark. 

          The architectural works of Gaudí are known for their modernistic flowing lines, unusual themes taken from his view of nature, the use of broken tile facings and mosaics, and catenary arches - the curve assumed by a hanging rope. When flipped over, the catenary arch distributes any load placed on it evenly over the entire span.

          Gaudí was not widely admired or accepted in his time. One of his now appreciated designs, Casa Milà, was disparagingly referred to as "La Padrera"...the rock quarry!

          When Gaudí took over the design of La Sagrada Familia in 1883 at the age of 31, he included Gothic, curvilinear, and Modernism forms with impressive structural columns and catenary arches, including a rich variety of Christian symbols. A hundred and twenty eight years later the construction still continues. It is projected to be completed by 2028, 145 years after it was started.

 

     Back on the Red Line we continued our loop, getting off at the waterside stop of Maremagnum. We found a lovely restaurant overlooking the boats, and enjoyed a delicious seafood paella dinner while we watched the sun set behind the hills across the harbor.

 

     After our last dinner in Spain we headed back to the hotel. Passing the statue of Columbus, it seemed that he was pointing the way for tomorrow's flight.