Sailing into (and out of) Vigo

And all I want is a tall ship
And a star to steer her by.

Poet John Masefield could have had his wish this weekend in Vigo. The Tall Ships Race has set off from here en route for Tenerife, Barbados, Charleston, Boston, Halifax (Nova Scotia) and eventually Belfast.
A "village" sprang up on the harbour, opened officially by the mayor on Friday morning and providing refreshments and shopping opportunities.


The port area was full of masts and the weekend saw groups of young sailors in formal uniform with impossibly large white naval caps. Almost certainly these were from the Kruzenshtern, a Russian training ship. This old but perfectly maintained vessel dominated the harbour and attracted a steady stream of visitors.


In the past, some famous names have come into Vigo from the sea. In the 1930s, Laurie Lee finally left Cider with Rosie country and after trying his luck in London it was to Vigo that he came with his violin. He chose Spain because he knew just enough of the language to ask for a drink of water and there were ships sailing from England to Vigo for an amazing £4. No, not RyanAir; this was the 1930s after all.

It seems, however, that Vigo did not impress him greatly. ... Vigo struck me like an apparition. It seemed to rise from the sea like some rust-corroded wreck, as old and bleached as the rocks around it. ... I landed in a town submerged by wet green sunlight ....

Not surprisingly, then, he did not stay but headed inland, eventually walking all the way to the south where he was "rescued" by a British destroyer at the start of the Spanish Civil War. However, since he began a short-term career busking on the Spanish streets with his violin, he could have given some advice to those who follow the same profession today on Principe. As well as recommending tunes that the passersby would recognise - any Spanish tune worked immediately, and called up ready smiles - he knew it was important to prime the collecting box -I made sure the hat was properly baited beforehand. Now, how could he be so savvy in that respect and still manage to walk for hours under the sun with neither hat nor water? I suppose collapsing from heat stroke was one way to get to know the people.


Then, of course, some 10 to 15 years earlier there was Hemingway. I had always associated him with bullfighting Spain, not the fishermen and farmers of Galicia. However he too arrived in Vigo and also spent only a few hours here. That was enough, though, for him to send an article to the Toronto Star: Vigo is a pasteboard looking village, cobble streeted, white and orange plastered, set up in one side of a big, almost landlocked harbour that is big enough to hold the entire British navy. .... the color of the water is as blue as a chromo of the bay at Naples. Although the vigueses would probably object to being described as a village, Hemingway's opinion was more favourable than Laurie Lee's and I understand that a gallego has written a book about his visit: Las huellas de Hemingway en Vigo.

But that was all in the past; back in 2009 Vigo is having a moment of glory once again. The papers told us that at 11:00 this morning the Kruzenshtern would lead the Tall Ships in procession up the estuary to La Guia, take a turn round the ria and then head out to the Islas Cies where the race proper would begin in the afternoon. So I set out for the Castro, seeking a vantage point from which to see what was going on.



When I got there, nothing at all was happening apart from a lot of people with binoculars. Someone commented that it would all start at high tide, 11:30. As the bells rang out midday, finally the boats began to move. There was some muttering about nothing starting on time but it was worth waiting for.



Despite the fact that at some time in the last 30 years one of the mayors of Vigo allowed the construction of a huge hotel and an even more imposing local government administration building to rather dominate the view, it was still spectacular.


It was generally agreed that it was un dia precioso with sun, blue sea and enough wind to keep the boats moving. A tugboat saluted them with a water display and local small boats accompanied the tall ships on their way out to sea.



By late afternoon, when I went up to the Castro once more, the Kruzenshtern was a dot on the horizon. The tent village down at the harbour had disappeared as if it had never been. Suddenly it was all over - until the next time!