Marina Sada on La Costa Dulce    26th July 2007

 

After our epic voyage we washed the boat, sails, oillies, mats; a fish fell on the deck - a welcome and good luck sign but probably just a lost meal for a seagull, and then we collapsed in a heap.  I don’t think we  realized how tired we were.  We stayed in A Coruna just short of two weeks.  We walked a lot.  Found the John  Lewis of Spain - EL Corte Inglese, of course at the other end of the city from the marina.  Visited lots of ‘tourist’ attractions such as the fort, the aquarium, museum of the human body and the art gallery but really the best thing was wandering around the streets and shopping in a market that, apart from Mondays, was bursting with fruit and vegetables, fish and cheese.

 

A few days after we arrived there was the ‘fiesta del Carmen’, where local boats adorn themselves with flowers and leaves and cross the water throwing these offerings into the water to the patron saint of sailors and the sea.  White robed priests, tall candles, the image of the saint herself, and loads of greenery jostled for space in the bow of the local tourist boat whilst the local band and hangers on  filled the boat to bursting.  Loud bangs filled the sky and shoals of  boats, all shapes and sizes and all sounding off their fog horns, swarmed around accompanying her as she went on her way.  It reminded us of the fisherman’s races in Islay the only difference being the weather but everyone has a good time whatever.

 

We went to the Military Museum on a special day, music blared out, the kind of music they play on radios when a junta is taking place, it was hot, we read about Sir John Moore at the battle of Elvina*, not quite sure who won but I think we were all very brave.  There were Greeks and Romans, Redcoats and  British, German and Spanish WW11, mostly men, but a few roman matrons and mediaeval maids wandered around.  It was all blissfully chaotic.  The stalls were familiar, in fact we have similar artefacts and could stage our own re-enactments from the contents of our attic.  We read an account of a lady called Maria Pita (after whom a magnificent square is named) ‘traditional of Coruna, tall, strong, beautiful and brave’, why is it heroines are never ugly?, knocked down a second lieutenant, a subordinate of ‘the English pirate Drake’, and saved the day for Coruna.  As we sat in the sunshine a wedding party began to assemble.  I have never seen so many gorgeously turned out people - I think I‘ll buy my mother of the bridegroom outfit here, not that there are any signs of impending marriages in the family I hasten to add!  The only slight down side were the lovely ladies chewing gum.  The bride arrived with Dad in a vintage 1940’s Citroen , no sooner had she exited one door to take the red carpet to church and happiness ever after than the Bosch, grabbing the opportunistic chance of a good photo, moved in to the other.  Squeezed into a rather moth eared uniform he struck his pose, cigarette in hand, another snapshot for his album.

 

In Maria Pita square  we watched people coming and going, making their evening paseo, meeting friends, showing off their children; two pistachio suited little boys played well behaved football while Granny, dressed impeccably in pale pink (they all went so well together) sipped her aperitif and delicately pecked her crisps.  There are little glass cubes all around the square where you can have drink and tapas and later in the evening be seen dining although lunch is the favoured meal in Spain which is usually a languorous affair that begins late, lasts long into the afternoon and is followed by a siesta - how civilized.  There was an extraordinary competition going on in the square one day - a host of people in orange hats, the converted , were sitting watching the final of the timber sports championships.  Most of the time there was a wee man trying to keep the audience with him by shouting and cheering them on, throwing sweets and footballs while the stage behind was being prepared for the next amazing feat of chain saw wielding.

 

Sada is so pretty, it is in a little Ria east of Coruna, so as Mac said it looks like we are going back but no, just exploring some more, we are in no hurry.  It is green and hilly and indented with little beaches overhung with trees - eucalypts, evergreens, chestnuts and oak - and full of that lovely turquoise water. The tourist guide says  ‘to its natural indisputable beauty we prune to add the whole series of factors of attraction’ we think we know what they mean!

 

I learned from Sophia that a seal in Spanish is a ‘foca’ couldn’t quite believe it but checked it out and indeed it is.  The unfortunate thing is that I tried to explain to the lad who was taking the name of the boat that a selkie was a foca and I think he thought I was being rude to him!

 

Then you’ll never guess what happened but we met the original Manuel and he was a waiter at Forres Hill Hotel in 1962 before he ever got to Fawlty Towers.  This was an amazing coincidence, we had just walked off the pontoon and a dapper Spaniard making his ‘paseo’ with his dog said, ‘Buenos - Inglese?’ and we said, ‘no- Escoces’ and he told us he hadda been to Scotland,  Scotland people very funny.  We continued our conversation as we walked into town and it seems that this good catholic boy had been thoroughly liberated by the quines of Forres and had enjoyed the fast crack, good humour and hospitality that had stretched from Forres to Inverness and Aberdeen.  He had gone on to be head waiter at big London Hotels whilst investing his tips in property in Galicia where he now lives very well.

 

So as the commendable tourist book suggests, we are off to sample:

 

‘of indisputable seaworthy, dynamical and hospitable tradition, Sada has today in day its bigger attraction in the nautical tourism.  After an intense day, thanks to the wide hotelier offer gives comfort and rest to the visitor.  Besides, the Sweet Coast offers all the ingredients to enjoy an unforgettable experience thanks to its forceful trade and also its great variety of environments and places to only a few steps of distance.’

 

Off to anchor overnight  and give Andy the opportunity to check the boat from underwater.  Then we will set off for Laxe, Camarinas and the south.

 

Jinti and Andy

 

*The Burial of Sir John Moore after Coruna

Charles Wolfe. 1791-1823

 

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,

As his corse to the rampart we hurried;

Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot

O’er the grave where our hero we buried