The organiser had put into effect another explore so earlier than I'd like we set off for an hour on that narrow gauge railway but south this time. For most of the journey it's quite scenic in places, in others skeletons of appartment blocks, dusty tracks and barren rocks are all there is to see. For one portion, maybe half a kilometer at most a group of workmen appear to be devoting themselves to the construction of what looks like the most aethetically pleasing dry stone wall I've ever see. At one end it's complete, as one passes it's in various stages of construction, placing the capstones, building the wall, laying footings, digging footings and cutting small stones and finally at the start, if you get what I mean there's a hill of large rocks and a man in a digger making them smaller.
It's going to be lovely when it's finished. What puzzles me is why is it there? There's nothing as you approach from either direction, there's nothing behind it to retain, it's just on the edge of a dusty track miles from anywhere, well, Kilometres from anywhere along the edge of a dirt road a few metres from the track, it goes up over a slight rise and then back to level. I'm sure that there's a purpose to it but it isn't an obvious one to one passing in a pleasantly slow train.
There weren't many in the carriage so we traveled in some style and looked out enjoying what we missed on the way up a week ago.
For the last few k's the line goes underground and you alight in the city centro. We alighted. Took the escalator and as we rose so did the rustle becoming a roar as we entered daylight in the midst of a cauldron of traffic and people. Bit of a shock but at least these people were driven by economic competition not batteries and medical science as the last lot were.Down hill, slope, actually, very gentle but definitely down. It's a theory I have, if in a strange place and there's an option to go
downhill, take it. Eventually you'll get to water. Somehow I always find the presence of water calming.
So it was today. If you like harbours you'd like this place. The harbour is huge, away in the distance, scene right, container cranes dominate the skyline, middle distance and there's what looked like a Brittany Ferry which, obviously it wasn't. Eyes front and yachts, sailing ones immediately in front, eyes left and it's a Sunseeker parking lot. There's others which aren't sunseekers, the really big ones and some smaller ones which aren't but most that I could see had the logo, low down, aft and the signature lozenges for windows.
Not everyone is quite as interested as me, I understand that, alas, my excitement led to an explore session. That's the trouble, really. Boats. If there's a quay I want to go along it. All of it. A jetty, a pier whatever, anything, I want to walk along it. I don't stroll, either. You see a boat and want to look but then there's another that catches your attention and once you get to the end the return trip gives another aspect, doesn't it?
Anyway, I was eventually apprehended by a most wonderful fountain. Just a fine spray of water, the highest jet no more than a foot or two but thousands of them so it produced a fine mist, which was nice but the noise as the water fell onto stones and flowed over them was wonderful. I love things like this, not just different, but imaginative and fabulously executed.
It was whilst pausing to admire and take a photo or two I was reminded that I'm only 50% of this team, and not really the important half, either. In fact not important at all. Words like "old town", "shops", "explore", "quaint historic bits" and so on drifted over the gentle fountain of mist turning it to drizzle.
Unfortunately right opposite the fountain there's museo devoted to Whitbread. Not the beer, Costa or Premier Travel Inns but match racing over the world's oceans. I declined to go in but needs must and I allowed myself to be persuaded, gracefully, I thought.
Why is it that I have to travel to a strange place 1000 miles from home to go into a Museo Libre, Libre is everywhere and it's great, but why do I have to come here to see a tribute to Sirs. Robin Knox-Johnson, Peter Blake, sailor murdered in the Amazon not Sgt.Pepper's sleeve designer, Lawrie Smith, Tracey Edwards and Grant Dalton. OK, the latter was a Kiwi but I remember him beating Peter Blake in the last few hours of a RoW race, NZ Endeavour and Steinlager, but it was Grant Dalton I watched sail that huge ketch up The Solent from a creek just up from Marchwood. They sailed around the world and it was match racing all the way. I remember following it on the news, we
even had TV programmes about it. The it went off the radar but it's happening again and here's this museum devoted to it. A wonderful place, very high tech interactive displays and galleries of fabulous photos. It's the eyes, it's always the eyes.And it's free, you get a lovely ticket with a photo on it. Everything about it is sheer class. An immersive 360 degree view from the cockpit in the southern ocean and a full on knock down in something huge that is hit by a wave much huger. Oh, it was brilliant. I could have .....
Anyway, we wandered around the old quarter, traipsed up some streets, down some others, ended up back on the seafront, had something to eat and drink and wandered around some streets a bit more. Then we caught the return narrow gauge railway.
Don't do that on a Friday afternoon. Half the population of this rather large city obviously leave it about then, too.
Knackered now, I trust that tomorrow's plans are less tiring than todays.
Fountain of delights, for some ..... if you didn't like harbours you'd miss it.
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