Last night we went ashore in Camariñas. We walked up towards the point, through pine woods. Honeysuckle and brambles grow up through the dry stone walls and under the pine trees bracken is turning brown. The landscape is rolling and rocky, with patches of gorse and heather. At times it feels like Cornwall, then we walk past strip fields of sweetcorn, interplanted with runner beans, climbing up the maize stalks, and little gourds nestling in the shade of the bean leaves.
We had tapas in a bar overlooking the harbour, including a plate of pimientos – tiny little green peppers, about an inch long, deep fried and served covered with crystals of salt. Each one crisp on the outside, with a soft white centre of unformed seeds. Surprisingly good.
The tide was out, leaving the end of slip way to which we had attached the dinghy covered in a thick mat of green algae. Anthony, being youthful, fit and agile (and equipped with shoes with fine grippy sole), skipped nimbly down, leaving me in my pretty, gold and turquoise, slippery, useless, sandals, inching down in tiny steps like a rheumatic geisha. Inevitably, bang! My feet went from under me, and I came down flat on my back. Luckily the slope wasn’t great, or I would just have carried on and whooshed off the end of the jetty as if on some slide, to land on the mussel shells beyond. Little bits of green algae have now joined the silvery silica on every flat surface of the boat.
No comments:
Post a Comment