“What is your fondest memory of Spanish Meatballs?”
Written by Captain G
A guy was sitting behind me on a bus to Lisbon, Portugal, and this pickup line was his final attempt to pick up a girl across the aisle.
But this isn’t where the story begins. Let us go back five weeks and 3600 nautical miles to Jacksonville, Florida, USA. The crew loaded stores onto a private yacht that would soon make its way across the Atlantic Ocean. The owner had asked a friend, who in return asked me to join the trans-Atlantic crossing. Four of us would be on the 47-foot sailboat during the voyage.
Every journey has its pulse. I have commented before that long-distance sailing is 90% boredom and 10% panic, but this trip was of note to be different.
The First Leg
Bermuda, Isle of Devils
After finally leaving the mainland and out of the sight of land, we had the perfect sail to Bermuda. Along the way, dolphins rode our bow waves, Gin and Tonics let us know before dinner would soon be ready each evening, and the stars, the night sky while at sea, always impresses.
The first leg took five days. We planned to stop long enough to replenish the fresh galley necessities. However, the weather had us cautious due to a hurricane possibly crossing our path.
The storm came and went while we made friends at places like the Swizzle Inn, listening to Bil Krauss’s talents and enjoying Dark and Stormy’s at The White Horse. This was the last time we would see land for the next thirteen and a half days. Next stop, Azore Islands.
Horta
Cold drinks, Whalebones, and more Friends
Horta, Faial, is a port city on the western part of the Archipelago of the Azores and a rite of passage for sailors making a west-to-east trans-Atlantic crossing. The first mission was to find a historic pub named Peter’s. The pub was serendipitous, with burgees lining the walls and ceiling, live music wafting out the front door, and beer flowing to yachtmen from around the world. We smiled, laughed, made more friends, and took turns buying drinks, but most importantly, we knew the accomplishment we achieved.
Sadly, it was time for a crew change with my close friend Dave flying back to the States for business. Dave is a sailor’s sailor; he is a racer. One who is always watching the wind and tweaking the sails to squeak out another fraction of a kt. I learn from Dave every time I sail with him.
“Uncle” Rick, Owner Tony, and I welcomed the new Brit on board for the final reach to Lagos, Portugal.
Land Ho!
Mainland Europe, Dryland
We arrived in Lagos during daylight hours and tied to a dock at a downtown marina. That night, Portugal won the World Cup. Horns blasted through the city after the win. I joined the festivities and helped the locals celebrate in a proper sailor manner. The following day, with a sizable hangover, I said my goodbyes to the crew and boarded a passenger bus heading to Lisbon. Sitting around me were travelers from different points of the compass. During the two-hour trip, I listened to a guy behind me try repeatedly to start a flirty conversation with a girl across the aisle. During the last fifteen minutes, he asked her the question that still makes me smile, “What is your fondest memory of Spanish meatballs?’
Aquatramp 