On day three in the anchorage, we decided to sail back either to Lagos or Vilamoura just around the corner. The Portuguese government has declared a state of emergency. All activities have to come down to a standstill, besides essential activities as work, buying food, consulting doctors. Clearly, the authors of the law had no faint idea of what is vital in life, since sailing wasn’t on the list. We thought it prudent to stay no longer, hoised the anchor, and sailed to Vilamoura.
In bygone days, in a free world, when a sailor’s life was splendid, we wouldn’t have considered this town. It’s artificial and purpose build, for tourism only, a place singularly devoted to sucking money out of tourists, the English in the first place. One could fence the whole site, call it British territory, install a border checkpoint, and no one would see a difference. Well, maybe the Portuguese will notice it when asked for an ID-card for entering.
Six golf courses close by are not on our wish list too. In the Baltic, we met a dentist who talked of his friends and colleagues, their Porsches, and golf clubs. He concluded the story in a question: Do you still have sex, or do you play golf already? Can’t help, but to think of him any time when I read ‘Golf Club.’
According to sailors in Lagos, Vilamoura isn’t a recommendation in the low season. The town is as dead as the cemetery of Chicago; only a few liveaboard. Lagos, on the contrary, is a perfect location for socializing, either in the marina or the nearby bars or restaurants. In times of a virus, close social distances, talks face to face, are not exactly on our wish list.
Well, the estuary to Vilamoura is easy to navigate, a spacious welcome bridge awaits the visitor. A week earlier, I had written a sentence or two about the attractive lady behind the counter. Here the story took totally unexpected a different direction. Handsome or not, she commanded me to… Read More