Spanish Pirates, Crazy Russians...... After making good progress for 4 hours back in Miss Grape I landed at Adra, a grim town encased by plastic farms and wrapped by fine mountains that deserved better footings. I went in search of caffeine and arrived at a nondescript looking place under a block of flats. But, once inside, I was transported to a world of ships, yachts and pirates. I found the piratic owner particularly grumpy but his coffee was good and his tapas even better. Whilst sipping my first cortado, Mark rang. He was on his way north after dropping my bike in Gibraltar. As we spoke I noticed a vicious westerly had blown up; enough to make galleons run for cover and kayakers order a second coffee. Mark was near and I wasnt going far. Within an hour hed joined me and I was back in the pirates bar for a second time. Im building up the courage to try my first Cafe Bonbon. An inch thick sludge of condensed milk topped by an espresso. Perhaps tomorrow. Perhaps not. After a second farewell in as many days, Mark drove off and and I walked back down an ugly expanse of promenade. Hello my friend . That time honoured greeting when youre about to be accosted and sold something you really, really need. This was worse as a ruddy faced man was waving a bottle of whisky at me. Im Russian, Im a crazy guy. Its my birthday. This is my dog. was his introduction. He had just enough of an innocent smile to make me think he was innocent. Ill give him a minute I said to myself. In the end I gave him 15. Dennis had sailed somehow down rivers and across seas from Baltic Russia to Istanbul and hence to the Mediterranean. I am crazy yes? We carry your kayak to the port. You stay with me tonight. I have beer and I cook. I have guitar and we sing. We have a crazy night. He showed me photos of his tiny catamaran; like a Hobie on steroids. I wished Dennis happy birthday. It was late afternoon by now and with the headwind not abating, Adra was going to be home for the night. By the time of my third visit, grumpy pirate was now my good friend Juan. When I left to camp below said promenade, Juan handed me a bag of 30 mandarins. This time, with room in the kayak, I could take the lot.
Posted on: Sat, 06 Dec 2014 08:01:21 +0000
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