The morning light brought many people on deck to see the dawn at around 07:15. If they had only
moved the island a few miles to the west it would have been spectacular. The Captain was there
surveying the scene.
"Ah Nick. Camera kit? In the bag? Technology, what? Just your thing."
"Ah Nick. Camera kit? In the bag? Technology, what? Just your thing."
"Morning Giles, are they handling the ship OK?"
"Not bad, not bad. Foreign pilots - funny johnnies."
The Twitchers were there, dressed for war, Keith was there wondering how much the Twitcher's lenses cost and James was there, "Beautiful isn't it." he said.
"Lenses. Are you comparing them?"
"That's a game for little boys," retorted Mr Twitcher.
"Never mind. Never grew up," said the Captain.
As the ship edged towards the berth it passed the Cape Verde navy, both of it. A fast patrol boat and a gun ship with one gun. In fact there was an inflatable that circled the ship, no doubt ready to fire a broadside if necessary. It was crewed by two men in jungle camouflage. This didn't work well against either the sea or the bright orange inflatable. In fact, the Cape Verde Islands are very nearly a misnomer - there is very little green. The predominant colours were of volcanic destruction and upheaval. Grim greys with reds and browns that told of long past pyromancy and raven black layers studded and glazed with glinting minerals, fired in some primeval kiln. The soldiers would be as equipped to hide as a well-dressed bishop at an orgy.
It was also strange that such a poor country should maintain an army at all. Against whom were they going to fight? The only option seemed to be that these two soldiers might turn on each other and decide a very small civil war.
The harbour was littered with ships in various states of decay and buoyancy. To the west a large Russian salvage tug lay aground and partly submerged, three of four inter-island ferries, but now long out of service, listed at anchor and a rust brown mosaic of fishing boats formed pictures by a quay. Clearly paint is expensive in Mindelo.
At 09:45 the walking tour of the town was despatched to the gangway to meet their tour guide and take vehicles into town.
"'ello, I is John and to town walking tour I take."
Cape Verde Islands became an independent state in 1975 and clearly did not maintain Portugal's rigorous standards when it came to official tour guides and their linguistic abilities.
A convoy of 6 and 9 seater people carriers set off with John in the lead vehicle. It was the lead vehicle that set off at speed through the containers and other detritus of the quayside. After about a mile the remaining vehicles stopped in line on a dual carriageway. There, in front of the leading, vehicle, barring the way was John. Waving madly to his left and slightly forward he made it clear that the convoy had missed the turning for the drop-off point. Undaunted John ran alongside the vehicles throwing open the doors and urging the passengers to make a dash across the road onto the safety of the sea wall. Perhaps 'relative safety' would be more accurate. the very narrow path was edged by the road on one side and a crumbling and incomplete wall that should have prevented anyone tumbling over the edge and onto the rocks below. At least one person took their chances with the traffic rather than the precipice. The time taken for the journey, the hold up and evacuation of the vehicles was probably slightly longer than it would have taken to walk there from the ship along the other side of the road where there was a wide footpath. The crocodile of passengers obeyed John's instruction. "Follow, me single line please."
"Not bad, not bad. Foreign pilots - funny johnnies."
The Twitchers were there, dressed for war, Keith was there wondering how much the Twitcher's lenses cost and James was there, "Beautiful isn't it." he said.
"Lenses. Are you comparing them?"
"That's a game for little boys," retorted Mr Twitcher.
"Never mind. Never grew up," said the Captain.
As the ship edged towards the berth it passed the Cape Verde navy, both of it. A fast patrol boat and a gun ship with one gun. In fact there was an inflatable that circled the ship, no doubt ready to fire a broadside if necessary. It was crewed by two men in jungle camouflage. This didn't work well against either the sea or the bright orange inflatable. In fact, the Cape Verde Islands are very nearly a misnomer - there is very little green. The predominant colours were of volcanic destruction and upheaval. Grim greys with reds and browns that told of long past pyromancy and raven black layers studded and glazed with glinting minerals, fired in some primeval kiln. The soldiers would be as equipped to hide as a well-dressed bishop at an orgy.
It was also strange that such a poor country should maintain an army at all. Against whom were they going to fight? The only option seemed to be that these two soldiers might turn on each other and decide a very small civil war.
The harbour was littered with ships in various states of decay and buoyancy. To the west a large Russian salvage tug lay aground and partly submerged, three of four inter-island ferries, but now long out of service, listed at anchor and a rust brown mosaic of fishing boats formed pictures by a quay. Clearly paint is expensive in Mindelo.
----OOOO----
Eventually the gangway was secured and the first passengers were making their way to the shuttle bus
which would take them into the town. The ship's Daily News had warned passengers to take especial
care of personal possessions and, perhaps, to take the drastic step of removing jewellery before going
into Mindelo. Few had taken any notice and some still looked like Christmas trees covered, as they
were in bling.
At 09:45 the walking tour of the town was despatched to the gangway to meet their tour guide and take vehicles into town.
"'ello, I is John and to town walking tour I take."
Cape Verde Islands became an independent state in 1975 and clearly did not maintain Portugal's rigorous standards when it came to official tour guides and their linguistic abilities.
A convoy of 6 and 9 seater people carriers set off with John in the lead vehicle. It was the lead vehicle that set off at speed through the containers and other detritus of the quayside. After about a mile the remaining vehicles stopped in line on a dual carriageway. There, in front of the leading, vehicle, barring the way was John. Waving madly to his left and slightly forward he made it clear that the convoy had missed the turning for the drop-off point. Undaunted John ran alongside the vehicles throwing open the doors and urging the passengers to make a dash across the road onto the safety of the sea wall. Perhaps 'relative safety' would be more accurate. the very narrow path was edged by the road on one side and a crumbling and incomplete wall that should have prevented anyone tumbling over the edge and onto the rocks below. At least one person took their chances with the traffic rather than the precipice. The time taken for the journey, the hold up and evacuation of the vehicles was probably slightly longer than it would have taken to walk there from the ship along the other side of the road where there was a wide footpath. The crocodile of passengers obeyed John's instruction. "Follow, me single line please."
The group reached a wider stretch of pavement and John called a halt. The fact hat his limbs were in
perfect proportion to the rest of his body indicated that he did not have dwarfism but was simply very,
very short. This is not an asset for a tour guide attempting to address a group of 24 people. Seeking to
overcome this challenge, John had a battery powered megaphone. It looked more sophisticated than a
child's toy but it was, nonetheless, perfectly in scale to John. It too was very, very small and inevitably
its volume was in scale.
John stood up on the sea wall, faced the left hand side of the group of people and began his talk. "Please ladies and gentlemens, listening now, please."
He introduced himself and began to speak about the volcanic origins of the islands. Unfortunately as he gestured expansively with his arm to the volcanic turmoil behind him he turned to face it and offered his explanation to the fish in the bay that lay between us and the particular mountain that he wished us to study. He turned back.
"And ladies and gentlemens over there," he turned once more as he pointed and spoke once more with his back to the audience, the tiny megaphone pointing confidently away from the would-be listeners. He turned back. ". . . . is the reasons why Mindelo is much interest."
Some of his audience were, by now disgruntled. Many, by virtue of failing hearing didn't know that they could not have heard and were resigned to their intermittently silent world. Those who had been relieved of their gruntle shuffled and looked for a spokesperson. Eventually one stepped forward and, in the manner of the gruntleless Englishman, began with an apology.
"Look here, John, sorry old chap, some of us are a bit old and have cloth ears, bit like doorpost and we cannot hear you."
Quite what John made of "cloth ears" and "doorposts" defies imagination but it did seem to make a difference as he disposed of the megaphone. Perhaps he thought "cloth ears" were hyper-sensitive and that his amplification was painful for those poor souls like a door slamming against a post.
"Please ladies and gentlemens we walk now."
The party reached a small square next to the town beach. A man and his daughter were washing two dogs in the gentle waves, a functioning inter-islands ferry steamed slowly across the bay and, considering the condition of the ships in the harbour, strangely, nothing sank.
John told the group about the itinerary. That we would first of all visit the cultural centre then the fish market, a general market, see the president's palace and then there would be surprise.
"Is the surprise the fact that this tour includes a display of traditional dancing and a free beer at the Hotel Paradiso?" asked Mr Boring the barrister.
"I cannot be telling the surprise. If I tell surprise it will be a . . . " John hesitated searching for a word that meant not a surprise. ". . . er it will be a not surprise any mores."
As the group progressed along the promenade towards the cultural centre numbers of hawkers offered baseball caps, tee-shirts, sun glasses and genuine artefacts manufactured in China. All "At best price please. Good price just for you."
Waiting by the entrance to the cultural centre one particularly persistent fellow seized upon the two youngest members of the party.
"You want? You English?"
The girls ignored his approach but he would not be snubbed.
"You English, yes? I speak good English. You English?"
The younger one tried a tactic that was doomed from the start.
"No."
"'No' is English word you English, I know you English."
"Yes, no, I mean we are English but we don't want anything from you."
"Good, you English. You come from Windsor? You live Buckingham Palace."
"No we don't. Go away."
John reappeared.
"John, please get rid of this man - he's really irritating. He won't leave us alone."
John looked around and the walked up to a smooth looking chap with a pale jacket and cheroot. They spoke in Portuguese and Mr Smooth launched into a tirade at the problematic hawker. There was no
John stood up on the sea wall, faced the left hand side of the group of people and began his talk. "Please ladies and gentlemens, listening now, please."
He introduced himself and began to speak about the volcanic origins of the islands. Unfortunately as he gestured expansively with his arm to the volcanic turmoil behind him he turned to face it and offered his explanation to the fish in the bay that lay between us and the particular mountain that he wished us to study. He turned back.
"And ladies and gentlemens over there," he turned once more as he pointed and spoke once more with his back to the audience, the tiny megaphone pointing confidently away from the would-be listeners. He turned back. ". . . . is the reasons why Mindelo is much interest."
Some of his audience were, by now disgruntled. Many, by virtue of failing hearing didn't know that they could not have heard and were resigned to their intermittently silent world. Those who had been relieved of their gruntle shuffled and looked for a spokesperson. Eventually one stepped forward and, in the manner of the gruntleless Englishman, began with an apology.
"Look here, John, sorry old chap, some of us are a bit old and have cloth ears, bit like doorpost and we cannot hear you."
Quite what John made of "cloth ears" and "doorposts" defies imagination but it did seem to make a difference as he disposed of the megaphone. Perhaps he thought "cloth ears" were hyper-sensitive and that his amplification was painful for those poor souls like a door slamming against a post.
"Please ladies and gentlemens we walk now."
The party reached a small square next to the town beach. A man and his daughter were washing two dogs in the gentle waves, a functioning inter-islands ferry steamed slowly across the bay and, considering the condition of the ships in the harbour, strangely, nothing sank.
John told the group about the itinerary. That we would first of all visit the cultural centre then the fish market, a general market, see the president's palace and then there would be surprise.
"Is the surprise the fact that this tour includes a display of traditional dancing and a free beer at the Hotel Paradiso?" asked Mr Boring the barrister.
"I cannot be telling the surprise. If I tell surprise it will be a . . . " John hesitated searching for a word that meant not a surprise. ". . . er it will be a not surprise any mores."
As the group progressed along the promenade towards the cultural centre numbers of hawkers offered baseball caps, tee-shirts, sun glasses and genuine artefacts manufactured in China. All "At best price please. Good price just for you."
Waiting by the entrance to the cultural centre one particularly persistent fellow seized upon the two youngest members of the party.
"You want? You English?"
The girls ignored his approach but he would not be snubbed.
"You English, yes? I speak good English. You English?"
The younger one tried a tactic that was doomed from the start.
"No."
"'No' is English word you English, I know you English."
"Yes, no, I mean we are English but we don't want anything from you."
"Good, you English. You come from Windsor? You live Buckingham Palace."
"No we don't. Go away."
John reappeared.
"John, please get rid of this man - he's really irritating. He won't leave us alone."
John looked around and the walked up to a smooth looking chap with a pale jacket and cheroot. They spoke in Portuguese and Mr Smooth launched into a tirade at the problematic hawker. There was no
need to speak Portuguese - he was not issuing an invitation to sardines in an interesting sauce. The
pushy hawker departed and Mr Smooth turned to the group.
"Is you the young ladies - the bastard causes trouble?"
"Yes, thank you for getting rid of him. We are ever so grateful."
"No problem," and then to the other side of the road, "Phillipo." "Ladies, meet my brother Phillipo - he give you best price anything."
"Now ladies and gentlemen's we go see the fish market. Listen careful please. We go in one line, peoples behind peoples you just follows John, he lead the way."
The group's noses alerted them to the presence of the fish market before their eyes. John noticed one or two of his charges looking a little green around the gills.
"If you no wants to go in you just stay here. Exactly here. We see you when we comes out. No go away from here. Exactly here."
The rest of the group followed John to the door of the fish market.
"Now remember ladies and gentlemens, you follow me one then one. We go in here you follow me, we get to other door where we go to street that takes us to other market and the President's Palace."
On beds of melting ice, flat fish, fat fish, thin fish, rainbow finned fish: a Joseph's coat from the sea. Women, made of the volcanic rocks upon which they trod, walked through the market, huge baskets of glistening fish balanced securely upon their heads. Families ran stalls, grandparents, parents and small children, gutting, scaling, selling and packing.
"Please, ladies, please gentlemens, wait here while I goes back into fish market to find others." He turned on his heel and headed back into the piscine rainbow only to re-emerge a few minutes later, alone. He stood on the far side of the road, head nodding as he re-counted the group. He looked worried.
"John," Mr Boring called across the road, "John, what about the people you asked top wait at the other side of the fish market?"
Even though he was dark skinned a hint of redness spread across his face as he ducked back through the fish market to reappear around the corner of the building with the four travellers who had not had the stomach for the fish.
"Now ladies and gentlemens it is good we are all together. I is pleased now we go to general market." A short walk and the general market appeared, looking very much like an impoverished boot fair. Clothes, kitchen utensils, bric-a-brac and on one corner an elderly lady appeared to be selling empty mineral water bottles and second hand carrier bags, all neatly tied into bundles of ten.
From there John led the group by way of the Presidential Palace,
"We cannots goes in but is big big building, yes?"and then to the vegetable market. This enclosed market had a balcony from which it was possible to look down upon the tiers and tiers of beautifully displayed vegetables and exotic fruit. The vendors and customers seemed to be almost entirely elderly ladies with faces that told stories in their contours and lines: human books in a foreign language. One lady was smoking backwards. She had a filter tipped cigarette in her fingers and put the lighted end into her mouth, inhaled, removed the cigarette and exhaled luxuriously through her nose. At one end of he market, half way down the stairs from the gallery, the landing opened out with a view to the street. a crowd was gathering below.
"Is you the young ladies - the bastard causes trouble?"
"Yes, thank you for getting rid of him. We are ever so grateful."
"No problem," and then to the other side of the road, "Phillipo." "Ladies, meet my brother Phillipo - he give you best price anything."
----OOOO----
The tour moved on from the cultural centre with its exhibit of batik wall hangings that were as
colourful as an explosion in a paint factory and featured Baconesque heads leering at the viewer.
Crossing the road without hesitation or heed to traffic John led the way. "Follow me please, we see
statue soon." The statue commemorated a feat of aviation with a clumsy portrayal of a sea eagle. John
believed it to be a thing of beauty.
"Now ladies and gentlemen's we go see the fish market. Listen careful please. We go in one line, peoples behind peoples you just follows John, he lead the way."
The group's noses alerted them to the presence of the fish market before their eyes. John noticed one or two of his charges looking a little green around the gills.
"If you no wants to go in you just stay here. Exactly here. We see you when we comes out. No go away from here. Exactly here."
The rest of the group followed John to the door of the fish market.
"Now remember ladies and gentlemens, you follow me one then one. We go in here you follow me, we get to other door where we go to street that takes us to other market and the President's Palace."
On beds of melting ice, flat fish, fat fish, thin fish, rainbow finned fish: a Joseph's coat from the sea. Women, made of the volcanic rocks upon which they trod, walked through the market, huge baskets of glistening fish balanced securely upon their heads. Families ran stalls, grandparents, parents and small children, gutting, scaling, selling and packing.
-----OOOO-----
The group followed John out into the dusty street where they were asked to stand along the side of the
pavement while he counted. He looked puzzled and counted again."Please, ladies, please gentlemens, wait here while I goes back into fish market to find others." He turned on his heel and headed back into the piscine rainbow only to re-emerge a few minutes later, alone. He stood on the far side of the road, head nodding as he re-counted the group. He looked worried.
"John," Mr Boring called across the road, "John, what about the people you asked top wait at the other side of the fish market?"
Even though he was dark skinned a hint of redness spread across his face as he ducked back through the fish market to reappear around the corner of the building with the four travellers who had not had the stomach for the fish.
"Now ladies and gentlemens it is good we are all together. I is pleased now we go to general market." A short walk and the general market appeared, looking very much like an impoverished boot fair. Clothes, kitchen utensils, bric-a-brac and on one corner an elderly lady appeared to be selling empty mineral water bottles and second hand carrier bags, all neatly tied into bundles of ten.
From there John led the group by way of the Presidential Palace,
"We cannots goes in but is big big building, yes?"and then to the vegetable market. This enclosed market had a balcony from which it was possible to look down upon the tiers and tiers of beautifully displayed vegetables and exotic fruit. The vendors and customers seemed to be almost entirely elderly ladies with faces that told stories in their contours and lines: human books in a foreign language. One lady was smoking backwards. She had a filter tipped cigarette in her fingers and put the lighted end into her mouth, inhaled, removed the cigarette and exhaled luxuriously through her nose. At one end of he market, half way down the stairs from the gallery, the landing opened out with a view to the street. a crowd was gathering below.
"Ladies and gentlemens you sees out there the peoples watching the American soldiers. The yankees
they will play music. They are very good, it's very interesting." The group jostled for the best views.
John waited until the group were positioned, expectantly.
"Now we go to the surprise," he announced, "Follows me please."
"But the music. Aren't we going to listen, you said it would be very good." "Yes, yes, is very, very good but we go now."
The hotel was quite the grandest thing the group had seen in Mindelo. John led the way into he bar. "You can haves a local beer or a soft drink. Local cheese and other foods are on plates. Please help yourselfs." The liveried bar staff quickly served all the members of the group who then sat overlooking a small marquee on the terrace. The marquee held two guitarists and man who played the silent marimba or the less silent harmonica. A pair of Cape Verde sparrows cleaned up the crumbs from the around the feet of the travellers. A second group from the ship joined the first in the bar and their guide announced to all present, "Ladies and gentlemen, there will now be a display of traditional Cape Verde dances for your pleasure and entertainment." His English was faultless even though his accent betrayed the midlands origins of his tutor.
There were just two dancers. The man, who was making last minute adjustments to the sound system was rather dashing with a moustache and goatee beard, dressed in black jeans and brilliant red shirt. His eyes gleamed with good humour and his bare feet seemed to barely touch the floor. The girl leant against the balustrade alternately sulky and wistful - a lithe teenager with a long skirt that matched her partner's shirt and a brief black top. She looked very much as if she really did not want to be there and the few movements that she made were awkwardly graceless. Then the music began, the couple took to he floor and the girl was born. She came to life. The dazzling dragonfly from the listless nymph. Her face alight with pleasure. Not the false smile for tourists, the dance was her life and her life was only in her as she danced. Both she and the audience were entranced. Her partner offering a skilful and spirited backdrop to the stories her dancing told. The music ended and she stood, elegantly triumphant, carried for a few moments with the ecstasy of her dance before, deprived of music the spirit drained away from her and she reverted to graceless teenager. It was like watching a life pass: birth, joy, ecstasy and death, the life force in the music and the rhythm, dance the oxygen of being.
"Now peoples we must go on," said John. "We has other places to see. The Centre for Artisans. Follow please, follow now."
On the way to the Centre for Artisans there was a small museum with a few historic exhibits and more, less violent, batik.
"Please to look here. We stay here ten minutes the go Artisan Centre. We meet at back door."
Five minutes later John was leading half the group across the road at the back of the museum. Zoe, a musician in the ship's orchestra, spotted him just in time and rallied the remaining members of the group an led them in pursuit of John. Unfortunately he had turned a corner at a crossroads and disappeared along a second side street. Zoe was upset. As a crew member she felt responsible.
"It's fine, if all else fails we are that the east end of the town and really quite near the ship."
"Are you sure. I don't know where we are."
"It's fine - born with an unerring sense of direction. Let's give John the five minutes he didn't give us then head for the ship."
The group agreed and Zoe said thank you just as a gate opened behind this sub-group and John appeared.
"You finished with Artisan Centre already?"
""No, we haven't been there yet."
"But you by this gate. Is back entrance way out. You just come out."
"No, we have just come from the museum. You left us behind and then we lost you."
"No we all at Artisan Centre."
It was no good this was an unresolvable argument."
"John."
"Yes Mister."
"Please could you show us back into the Artisan Centre - we think we missed some interesting things."
"Now we go to the surprise," he announced, "Follows me please."
"But the music. Aren't we going to listen, you said it would be very good." "Yes, yes, is very, very good but we go now."
The hotel was quite the grandest thing the group had seen in Mindelo. John led the way into he bar. "You can haves a local beer or a soft drink. Local cheese and other foods are on plates. Please help yourselfs." The liveried bar staff quickly served all the members of the group who then sat overlooking a small marquee on the terrace. The marquee held two guitarists and man who played the silent marimba or the less silent harmonica. A pair of Cape Verde sparrows cleaned up the crumbs from the around the feet of the travellers. A second group from the ship joined the first in the bar and their guide announced to all present, "Ladies and gentlemen, there will now be a display of traditional Cape Verde dances for your pleasure and entertainment." His English was faultless even though his accent betrayed the midlands origins of his tutor.
There were just two dancers. The man, who was making last minute adjustments to the sound system was rather dashing with a moustache and goatee beard, dressed in black jeans and brilliant red shirt. His eyes gleamed with good humour and his bare feet seemed to barely touch the floor. The girl leant against the balustrade alternately sulky and wistful - a lithe teenager with a long skirt that matched her partner's shirt and a brief black top. She looked very much as if she really did not want to be there and the few movements that she made were awkwardly graceless. Then the music began, the couple took to he floor and the girl was born. She came to life. The dazzling dragonfly from the listless nymph. Her face alight with pleasure. Not the false smile for tourists, the dance was her life and her life was only in her as she danced. Both she and the audience were entranced. Her partner offering a skilful and spirited backdrop to the stories her dancing told. The music ended and she stood, elegantly triumphant, carried for a few moments with the ecstasy of her dance before, deprived of music the spirit drained away from her and she reverted to graceless teenager. It was like watching a life pass: birth, joy, ecstasy and death, the life force in the music and the rhythm, dance the oxygen of being.
"Now peoples we must go on," said John. "We has other places to see. The Centre for Artisans. Follow please, follow now."
On the way to the Centre for Artisans there was a small museum with a few historic exhibits and more, less violent, batik.
"Please to look here. We stay here ten minutes the go Artisan Centre. We meet at back door."
Five minutes later John was leading half the group across the road at the back of the museum. Zoe, a musician in the ship's orchestra, spotted him just in time and rallied the remaining members of the group an led them in pursuit of John. Unfortunately he had turned a corner at a crossroads and disappeared along a second side street. Zoe was upset. As a crew member she felt responsible.
"It's fine, if all else fails we are that the east end of the town and really quite near the ship."
"Are you sure. I don't know where we are."
"It's fine - born with an unerring sense of direction. Let's give John the five minutes he didn't give us then head for the ship."
The group agreed and Zoe said thank you just as a gate opened behind this sub-group and John appeared.
"You finished with Artisan Centre already?"
""No, we haven't been there yet."
"But you by this gate. Is back entrance way out. You just come out."
"No, we have just come from the museum. You left us behind and then we lost you."
"No we all at Artisan Centre."
It was no good this was an unresolvable argument."
"John."
"Yes Mister."
"Please could you show us back into the Artisan Centre - we think we missed some interesting things."
"Yes, yes, walk this way," and he led us around a corner, a short way along an alley and into the Artisan
Centre which had, on display, some stunning textile pieces that it would have been a shame to miss.
A short walk from the centre the taxis were waiting with their un-airconditioned fug. They drove a hundred yards down the road, turned right and arrived at the quay. A journey of no more than three hundred yards.
"Oh you were right," said Zoe with a disappointing note of surprise.
A short walk from the centre the taxis were waiting with their un-airconditioned fug. They drove a hundred yards down the road, turned right and arrived at the quay. A journey of no more than three hundred yards.
"Oh you were right," said Zoe with a disappointing note of surprise.
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