The sun was sinking towards the sea. The crew were scattered about the cockpit enjoying a glass of wine. The day had been gorgeous; although perhaps not quite so gorgeous as the ones which preceded it, because the anchorage had been beset by an unusually big and very annoying swell. By evening time, however, we had all grown accustomed to the rolling, and we were paying scant attention to anything except the golden light on the orange-brown cliffs and the ruby nectar…
Recent Articles in Scrapbook
A miscellany of chit-chat, quizzes, and articles about the places we have visitedWhat Can We Do To Help? (Martha Hezemans and the Sea Couriers of Las Palmas) We first met Martha at a pop concert. To be more exact, she was outside the concert, sitting on the grass. Small and skinny, the woman was hardly the sort who naturally attracts attention; but, right now, she was determined to do so. With one hand pressed against her throat she greeted us as loudly as she could – yet all we heard was a…
A window in the weather enabled the Mollymawks to pop across to La Gomera for Christmas, and here we met up with some other seafarers – or would-be seafarers – with a rather unusual vessel. The frail old man sitting on the quayside in La Gomera does not look like an adventurer. As we approach he waves a crutch in greeting, and I think to myself, “He looks just like any other aged old grand-pa. He might be on day…
(with a few additional remarks by the editor-in-chief) It was early afternoon and we were in Flores, just nearing the end of one of the scenic walks for which the Azores are famous. We had started that morning, leaving Mollymawk anchored in the bay behind us, and we had now been walking, at a leisurely pace, for most of the day – along a road, up a track, along a footpath, and past a lake which had eleven waterfalls pouring…
If we had happened to bump into Phoenicia while she was on the high seas then I would probably have put it down to too much red wine. Not that we drink a lot of that sort of thing on passage, but the only other explanation must surely be that we had travelled through a time warp. As it is, however, we were safely tucked up in the harbour of Lajes, in the Azores, when Phoenicia rocked up. And since…
His namesake dreamt of ruling the world, but never even glimpsed the lands on the far side of the Western Ocean. Our own Caesar has travelled to countries that the old Roman despot could never have even imagined, but far from becoming a megalomaniac he just wants to do his bit to help. In the summer of 2011 he wants to spend time in Central America, working with Raleigh International. Raleigh is a charity which combines the youth-development aims of…
With additional text, in italics, by Jill Once again we are in Las Palmas de Gran Canaria for November. This is the island’s busiest month. WOMAD, a free four-day world-music festival, starts on November the 11th and people from all over the Canary Islands get on the ferries and come to see it. The anchorage fills up with almost 60 boats, instead the usual two or three. But most of the yachtsmen have not actually come to listen to the…
As his wife, Catalina would tell you, Marius Albu is a very special man. Born and bred in the mountains of Romania, his burning ambition was to escape from the oppressive regime which ruled his country and sail around the world. “We all thought that it was a great joke,” says Catalina. Besides the fact that he would never be given permission to leave the country, he had no boat. “And even supposing that he managed to build a boat,…
Eighteen years ago, when the dot-com officer was still wearing nappies and the Ship’s Scholar was barely a bulge in the Admiral’s waistline, the good ship Maamari (predecessor to Mollymawk) was lying at anchor in the island of Antigua. To be precise, Maamari was lying in English Harbour, and in the absolute poll position at the head of the harbour; fifty-odd yards from the dockyard and fifty from the Slipway. The Antigua Slipway boatyard was where the Captain of our…
Hillsborough, Carriacou Bill Patterson was sitting with his friends in the front of his high street shop. From the wooden ceiling above his head two dozen T shirts, in assorted sizes and colours, hung down like curtains of weed in a grotto, but the shelves which lined the walls of the little den were stocked with tins of peas and milk powder and suchlike. Meanwhile, the tired old counter at the back of the store carried a display of batteries,…
sign up for email notifications
subscribe to our RSS feed
Twitter
Facebook
Google+