Awake, for morning in the bowl of night has flung the stone that puts
the stars to flight.
And, lo, has caught the sultan’s turret in a noose of light!

Spanish life is not always likeable but it is compellingly loveable – Christopher Howse: ‘A Pilgrim in Spain.

Cosas de España/Galicia

At least 20% of Spaniards will be saddened by the news that the country’s best bullfighter – maybe the best of all time – is retiring because of the mental health issues he’s faced for a long time. The majority possibly won’t really care, while sympathising, of course. See here and here.

At least a few Brits are said to be ditching the Canary Islands for a [nearby] ‘Atlantic archipelago’. But not many, I’d guess – given the paucity of flights to anywhere near it.

Well, I’m pleased to say I correctly guessed the name of the city cited in the headline here.

As I’ll be driving to Madrid in a few weeks’ time, I was interested to read of this judicial development. But it’ll be a while, I guess, before we know what it really means,

The UK

• Wow. Someone not only thinks he knows what’s wrong with Britain but also how to fix things. Not burdened by poverty of confidence, then. But, then again, he might have more answers than all the politicians put together. Or can at least be honest about the problems. I wonder what he says about the NHS . . .
• A nice satirical piece on British political hypocrisy and BBC bias.

The UK

Talking about poor politicians, this British ex-politico thinks the EU has 10 years to get some better ones, or fall apart. Even I have a longer time frame than that . . .

Germany

More here on Berlin’s change of policy regarding both illegal immigrants and asylum seekers.

The USA

Trump called for ‘unity’ after the first assassination attempt. But not now.

BTW . . . It was interesting – and amusing – to see that the man has upped his opinion of himself – from ‘stable genius’ to ‘extraordinary genius’. Truly delusional.

Brushes with death have clearly only magnified his baseless ego. Which many of us would have thought impossible.

Did you know?

Another reason to keep your kids off a smartphone . . . It isn’t just bad for their mental health – it’s destroying their body too.

Finally . .

MY YEAR IN THE SEYCHELLES

• Part 1: 12 September 2024: Why VSO?
• Part 2: 13 September 2024: The Leaving of Liverpool
• Part 3: 14 September 2024: An interlude: The Seychelles back then
• Part 4: 14 September Departure, Nairobi and Arrival
• Part 5: 15 September Arriving in Mombasa
• Part 6: 16 September: The YCWA in Mombasa

Part 7: The Flight to Mahé

Our friends in Pan Am took us to a vast hangar on Mombasa airfield. Outside, a small dull-grey plane – a DC-3 Dakota* sat quietly on the tarmac. Interestingly, it was fitted out with floats so as to be able land on water, making it an Albatross we were told. This was a tad worrying but, for the first time since we’d left the UK, we were with people who seemed to know what they were doing, even if their efficiency was loud and American. More importantly, they seemed to know were we were going. And how.

We were offered, for seven shillings (35 pence) a choice of 3 or 4 packed meals. This done, we were asked to sign two little pieces of yellow paper, strictly as a formality of course. One was a customs declaration, on which we were advised to write “Personal effects only”, and the other was an insignificant-looking slip which simply stated that we agreed that under no circumstances would Pan Am be liable for any damage to us or our property. Which was nice to know.

Having thus signed away our rights, we made ready to board the plane, feeling better than we had through our 30 hours of travel so far. The euphoria was short-lived.

As we left the hangar to walk towards the plane, we were followed by just about every able-bodied person in sight. And, as we stood below the iron ladder of the World War Two veteran, the pilot solemnly shook hands with all and sundry. Nervously, I glanced at the plane, looking for loose bolts and outsize holes. Was it a coincidence that it looked like a large metal coffin on wheels?

With the pleasantries over, we clambered into the tiny craft and sat in 2 of the 6 – extremely uncomfortable = passenger seats. Smilingly, the co-pilot informed us that, when we approached the islands, we were to don the life-jackets we’d find under the seats. And we weren’t to be afraid if, on landing, the water came up past the windows since this was quite normal. “Afraid?” I smiled. “We don’t know the meaning of the word”. As soon as his back was turned, I ripped the life-jacket from its moorings so that I’d be able to put it on in a second.

Only the size of the pilot inspired us with confidence, however illogically. He was a giant of a man. If anyone could get us out of a spot of bother, he could. But then it struck me that, if the engines did fail, his weight would only serve to take us down quicker. We couldn’t win.

With a deafening roar, the plane started up and, throbbing beneath us, taxied down the runway. Outside, the milling crown of well-wishers smiled and waved what looked like being their last goodbyes. If one of them so much as puts a handkerchief to his eyes, I muttered to myself, I’ll jump from this bloody thing, parachute or no parachute.

But the plane climbed slowly, inch by inch, and the dots on the tarmac grew smaller and smaller. Mombasa stretched out below us, scorched red-brown by the African sun.

Talking was impossible since the engine noise drowned out all but the loudest shouting. There was nothing to do but gaze on the never-ending expanse of the Indian Ocean, broken only by the shadow of the clouds we were flying among. The effect was almost hypnotic. But the trance was suddenly and rudely broken when we hit rain clouds and the Albatross pitched and rocked. And the rain dripped in through the ceiling.

Every so often, the co-pilot would descend from the cockpit, place a stool in the centre of the aisle and look through some instrument in the roof. I strove valiantly to convince myself we weren’t lost and that he was using a sextant, not just looking for some indication of land through a telescope.

After 960 miles of pretty low flying, we finally started to circle the islands in the Seychelles group. Small, bright green, densely forested and surrounded by sand and coral reefs in an azure blue sea. They looked rather like warts on a pale green silken skin but they were a truly thrilling sight. Especially after so many hours in a plane in which we’d been forced to shout at each other if we wanted conversation.

Within a few minutes, we were circling the largest of them all, Mahé. We could see the drizzle falling on the island. Which was not how I’d imagined things. No endless stretches of sand. No canoes on the beach. Just trees, granite and more trees. The island rose straight from the water’s edge, like the tip of the mountain it really was. And the peaks of its own mountains were shrouded in mist.

As the plane descended towards the corral-pitted harbour, we could see cars on the road that snaked round the water’s edge. More cars than I’d thought. I’d expected only dirt tracks and little villages but here we were descending towards tarmac roads and the built-up mess that was Victoria, spread-eagled down the slopes of two mountains to the harbour at their feet.

The harbour – such as it was – was natural and cluttered with high-sided lighters used for transferring cargo from ships anchored two or three miles out rom the chaos of the warehouses on the pier. Here and there, we could pick out speedboats and pleasure cruisers and several of the small yachts that made Mahé a port of call on their way around the world.

We landed on the water in the bay in front of the capital city, Victoria, on the main island of Mahé. There was a bump as we glided across the surface and it was rather surprising – not to say worrying – to see the water slowly rise up to the level of the window. We had no idea whether this was normal or not but later learned we’d hit a rock on landing, damaging the plane and forcing it to stay in the islands for a week or so while repairs were effected.

Once down on the water, the pilot had problems tying the nose of the plane to its buoy but, with that achieved, he came aft to open the door to the doctor who was going to check our jabs. Waiting there, we had our first experience of the Indian Ocean as the waves crashed against the bottom of the plane and splashed in through the door, soaking my new – and expensive = mohair suit.

* When World War II began, the US air force adapted the DC-3 for military use, designating it the C-47 Skytrain. This was known as the Dakota in RAF service and nicknamed the Gooney Bird by American troops. Here’s a foto of one with floats. It brings back memories. Though ours was metallic grey. With Pan Am markings, as I recall. . . .

My thanks to those readers who take the trouble to Like my posts, either after reading on line or in my FB group Thoughts from Galicia.

The Usual Links . . .

• You can get my posts by email as soon as they’re published. With the added bonus that they’ll contain the typos I’ll discover later. I believe there’s a box for this at the bottom of each post. If you do this but don’t read the posts, I will delete your subscription. So perhaps don’t bother if you have other reasons for subscribing . . .
• For new readers: If you’ve landed here looking for info on Galicia or Pontevedra, try here. If you’re passing through Pontevedra on the Camino, you’ll find a guide to the city there.
• For those thinking of moving to Spain:– This is an extremely comprehensive and accurate guide to the challenge, written by a Brit who lives in both the North and the South and who’s very involved in helping Camino walkers. And this is something on the so-called Beckham Rule, which is beneficial – tax-wise – for folk who want to work here. Finally, some advice on getting a mortgage. And this article ‘debunks claims re wealth and residency taxes’. Probably only relevant if you’re a HNWI. In which case, you’ll surely know what that stands for.