Nautical times

Some days after my stitches were removed, I teamed up with Alexandru from Moldova, to visit  the so called Ilha Deserta. We took the ferry to this Island, which comprises the most Southern tip of Portugal, and it was fantastic: The sun was shining, the sand was white and the sea was crystal clear. And even though the water was freezing, it was wonderfully invigorating to swim in. Alexandru had brought snorkeling gear and a video camera and soon he was laying head down in the water, whereby he  much resembled a beached whale, while filming a tiny hermit crab that he had found. He was sputtering in Moldovan to add much needed commentary to his footage. Not very National Geographic, but quite entertaining.


In case of shipwreck this life buoy can be a life saver. Unfortunately, there were only two on board.

I know. I need to work on my tan...

I know. I need to work on my tan…

For obvious reasons I have had a lot of time on my hands and hence I have resorted to some intellectual pursuits, which were greatly facilitated by the FNAC in the shopping centre, selling Wordsworth classics for 3.90 euro, and so enabling me to stock up on English literature.

In regard to the bucket lists, it would perhaps be a good idea to make separate lists for intellectual endeavours like reading books and seeing movies (where there is no need for travel) and others like seeing art in museums and architecture (that do necessitate travel).

James Joyce – Ulysses
Reading this notoriously difficult novel was an ambition I have cherished for some time and I have already gone through several aborted attempts. Even now, I must admit, I leafed through some sections that I felt were completely bonkers, but I think I’ve read enough to tick this one off.

Joseph Conrad – Heart of Darkness & Other Stories
Maybe the most nautical author in English literature.

And, very appropriate in the light of my recent boat trip to desert island, Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe. The original title was: The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, Of York, Mariner: Who lived Eight and Twenty Years, all alone in an un-inhabited Island on the Coast of America, near the Mouth of the Great River of Oroonoque; Having been cast on Shore by Shipwreck, wherein all the Men perished but himself. With An Account how he was at last as strangely deliver’d by Pyrates. A title which, I feel, gives away the plot.



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