S.O.S

 This is the headline story in today's paper Diario de Avisos, and it puts a real perspective on the rescue services' recent announcement that people could be asked to pay for rescue it they get into trouble when they haven't  taken sensible precautions before embarking on a risky enterprise.
Andre, a Russian who has been living on a beach in Tenerife for some months, decided he would go to America. His boat wasn't equipped with flares, or a radio, but he did have a GPS and his mobile phone, so what could go wrong?
Well, if I read the story correctly (my Spanish isn't perfect) he decided not to use the GPS. I guess that was okay, because if he kept going in a straight line west he would reach America eventually, right?

On Saturday he phoned his Mum in Russia.
"My boat's sinking - I'm on the life-raft - get help."
She called the Russian Ambassador in Paris (don't ask me why Paris) who alerted the authorities here.
Rescue boats went out and didn't find him, so the helicopters were called in. They took two days and eight trips to find him. Eight trips at public expense out over the vast Atlantic ocean to find one small inflatable with only his mobile phone signal to locate him by.
If that had been my phone I'd be dead - it only holds a charge for two days.
For the whole story go to www.diariodeavisos.es

BOAT & BIRD

THE BOAT
No, not that interminable German film, but our friends' yacht.
Yesterday afternoon we followed their detailed directions to San Miguel Harbour and parked facing a peaceful scene of about 100 boats of all kinds moving gently in the swell.
Apart from a couple sitting on high stools at the outside bar, there was no-one around - just the smack of club on golf ball from Amarillo Golf Course beyond the low cliff that backs the peaceful harbour.

We found our friends and were welcomed aboard, then after a drink and a chat we had the ten-cent tour. In a forty-odd-foot boat there are two double cabins, a decent-sized galley, a head with a shower, a living area that can sleep two or three more, a navigation corner, a workroom and a pantry!
Mind you, one would have to be very good friends with one's partner to live there long-term. Here they are, Davey and Nora, who lived (fairly amicably) on this boat for over a year, though they have some hair-raising tales to tell, especially as Nora can't swim.

                                                                                                          When Davey sailed the Atlantic single-handed last year, he stored his tins of food in a locker which flooded halfway across. After that, as he describes in the personal log I am persuading him to publish, every meal was an adventure.
But as you can see, he managed to find the beers yesterday.






THE BIRD   I was coming back from my walk this morning and a couple of minutes from home I spotted this little bird catching insects in a garden next to a cafe called El Buho, which means The Owl. This, of course, is not an owl but a hoopoe, and isn't it pretty?

GONE FISHING

   Not actually fishing, because our friends haven't got their yacht sea-worthy yet, but a drink on board to have a look round is way overdue, so we're off this afternoon to the marina.
(Note the subtle way I drop a yacht into the conversation?)
Davey and Nora actually lived on their boat for some years, trolling round the coast of America, but their on-land home is an apartment near us. We met them in the local bar when they'd just bought it and were moving in with no electricity turned on, so we invited them to breakfast. We've been friends ever since, and last year I held Nora's hand when Davey was sailing single-handed across the Atlantic. Forty days without knowing if he was alive or dead culminated in a triumphant arrival, and when he showed me his personal log of the voyage I typed it up and told him he should at least publish it for his grandchildren.
He demurred. I persisted. He asked me to edit it. I was proud to be asked. He added an explanation of one or two technical terms and inserted photos. He hasn't chosen a printing firm yet, but he has joined our Writers' Square. Baby steps.
Requests to see the boat were met with "She needs a lot of TLC first," but finally they've succumbed. I shall take photos and maybe, if you're very good, post them on my blog.
Oh yes - and another follower very kindly gave me his own personal award when he commented on my blog yesterday - thank you, Maurice.

ABROAD

ABROAD. We live abroad. Deliver the phrase as a throw-away line and it sounds exotic, but if you tell people you live in Tenerife they immediately think of stag parties and sangria. It’s true that Reina Sofia AIRPORT is a heaving mass of humanity on Fridays, the usual change-over day for tourists. The coach park is full of suitcases, frayed tempers, and people dragging on their last cigarette before checking in or their first since leaving home.

AND many of them think they’re in Spain. But they’re wrong - a thousand miles wrong.

AFRICA is only 160 miles to the east - the hot, dry wind is full of Saharan dust that makes you cough - and the reason you go home burned a painful bright red is because the sun is African, not Mediterranean.

AMERICA is the next landfall west of the Canary Islands, and when the moon is full the waves have had 3000 miles of ATLANTIC in which to pick up speed – they can be huge.

ANNIVERSARIES. There are three this week I should mention.

It is 10 years since a violent storm hit Tenerife on March 31^st 2002, killing 8 people, sweeping huge containers into the sea in Santa Cruz, and toppling half of our electricity pylons.

The worst AVIATION disaster in history happened in 1977 when two planes collided at the north airport – around 600 perished in the fire when the fuel exploded.

AND 45 years ago, on APRIL 1^st 1967, I got married for the first time.

AG = silver. Read my “Toy poem” about a little silver man.