100Words
You might think a harbor would be busier by day than by night, but not this tiny one in Los Abrigos. Granted in the summertime there are kids diving into the water, and grandads fishing off the end of the harbor wall, but the real activity happens when the the light fades, and the little boats leave in pursuit of marckeral and tuna. One by one they chug out into the open sea, and as dawn breaks they return, often followed by a retinue of gulls, awaiting their share of the feast. The tourists and diners see none of this.
July 5th
My bedroom window overlooks the harbor, and countless times I have been woken in the early hours of the morning by shouting or by clanking sounds. This is a boat coming in, lights blazing, chugging triumphantly home. All along the harbor side little, white vans are lined up, one or two if it is one boat, several if more boats are coming. Stacks of plastic crates await the unloading of the night’s catch. The construction of the harbor makes the slightest sound echo, so that a couple of guys shouting instructions to each other sounds like a fight going on.
July 5th
My bedroom window overlooks the harbor, and countless times I have been woken in the early hours of the morning by shouting or by clanking sounds. This is a boat coming in, lights blazing, chugging triumphantly home. All along the harbor side little, white vans are lined up, one or two if it is one boat, several if more boats are coming. Stacks of plastic crates await the unloading of the night’s catch. The construction of the harbor makes the slightest sound echo, so that a couple of guys shouting instructions to each other sounds like a fight going on.