Part of the reason for coming back yesterday was because we are expecting an engineer to arrive first thing this morning. Our autohelm (Samantha) has been getting slower in her responses to our commands and is need of a thorough servicing. Whilst sitting on the boat last week Mike managed to re-calibrate her and this seemed to have done the trick. He had tried to phone the engineer to cancel him but had failed to get hold of him. Given that this guy can also fix air conditioning units (and one of our small ones needs some more coolant in it) Mike decided that he could come anyway. But of course, he never arrives.
We all need money so out we go looking for banks with ATMs that will take British debit cards, quite a challenge I can tell you. We don’t find one in the banking quarter and decide to to back up to the Upper City as we know there is one there which works. We walk around for while in the Lower City first. It’s a strange arrangement. Shops seems to be arranged in groups. We go down one street where every shop sells sports goods and trophies, and absolutely nothing else. Another stretch of shops sells fishing gear, and yet another, musical instruments. It sure makes it easy if you are looking for something in particular but is as boring as hell if you aren’t!
When we reach the elevator we can’t believe the queue. Having only ever gone up during the early evening, we have been lulled into thinking that you always get on within minutes. Not so today. The queue snakes around the corner and there are hat and bottled drink hawkers galore. We look for a taxi but all the cabs are minus their drivers. They are all probably sitting in the shade having a beer! We persevere with the queue and actually it moves faster than we think – thankfully.
Johanne has one of these ‘1001 things to do before you die’ books and wants to go to a restaurant that is mentioned in there. We walk around looking for it so that we know where to head for tonight. We eventually find it in the Pelourinho district.
The Pelourinho district is full of beautiful buildings, many recently renovated and brightly painted. The narrow cobbled streets, though a bit of a nightmare to walk on, are picturesque.
We stop for a drink and a snack at one of the cafes, and are immediately the target of trinket hawkers although most of them give up quite easily. We order some very messy prawns which unfortunately are not shelled, and cover ourselves in greasy, garlicky oil in the process of eating them. I am so thirsty that I have three coconut water juices, although the lads are obviously even more thirsty as they manage to knock back four beers each.
We are joined at the next table by Annie and Jim before Johanne and I are tempted by the sight of the gemstone jewellers opposite and go for a visit. We are holier than thou as we don’t buy anything and feeling virtuous, head off in the direction of the Church and Convent of Sao Francisco.
The sobriety of the church facade contrasts starkly with with its interior where every surface of the 18th century chapel is covered with gold leaf. Given how poor some of the people of this city are, I’m surprised they’re not in there scraping it all off!
We come out to find that Mike and Steve are itching to go back to the boat and have a snooze. On the way back we stop to overlook the bay and the huge cross that overlooks it.
The modern art is directly in front of the naval acadamy and as I walk up to the sentry post to take a photograph it little men with big guns shoo me away. How nervous are they? The strange sculpture looks like an oversized bra from one aspect and a huge stomach and pair of hips from another. Hopefully it’s neither, but I’m not very good at interpreting modern art!
Back at the marina, we go through the performance of getting Johanne back on the boat. This time I resort to threats of filming her in order to get her back on speedily.
Back on board, Mike is snoring away, Steve has done his packing and now has his music planted firmly in his ears. Johanne and I go to bed for a nap but both get up as we can’t sleep. The weeks has been too short so we get up and have an Amarula together instead.
A couple of hours later we venture out again to find the Casa da Gamboa, arriving without mishap despite Johanne’s high heels and the cobbled streets.
Given the interior decor of this place, the restaurant should really be called Casa da Boobies. With Johanne and I both being ladies of ample bosom, we feel right at home!
The four of us are the only customers tonight. Monday must be a slow night.
Twice while we are eating there are small musical parades in the street and we get up to watch from the balconies on either side of the table.
Visiting the restaurant is another thing crossed off Johanne’s ‘to do’ list and a lovely evening is had by all, just marred by the fact that it’s the last one for a while. We can’t even have a late night as they have to be up at just gone 5 am to start their 27-hour journey home again.
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