The African Continent

Some hard decisions had to be made. We had left England later than originally planned, and it has taken three weeks longer than expected to work our way down the west coast of Europe. Now the wind has gone. There is little or none in the Med, and little or none in the Atlantic. Malta is now out of reach this year, but the fickle winds won’t take us to Madeira either!

Morocco was the only choice – if only to wait for the wind to return.

A big toothless grin greeted our arrival. Ahmed, my guide from my last visit to Smir, helped us secure our lines, and I was only too happy to barter with him for a day out in the mountains to see the souk and the old towns high in the Atlas mountains. But first the formalities…

Gone are the delays and long waits. Gone are the bribes and sweeteners of a few years ago. Entry into Morocco is simple. The friendly marina staff do most of the work, but the Police stamp your passports, both in, and out, of the country.



The drive into the mountains was fascinating. Soaring 2500m, they are covered in patchy course vegetation and small trees. Olive groves abound. Cattle, sheep, and goats, are frequently seen searching out a tender morsel. In this harsh environment the only form of transport for many of the local farmers is the mule, or donkey, and it’s not uncommon to see them in the fields, or on the road, a slow plodding train heading for market. Most wear traditional colourful dress, and some, especially the women, also wear the conical straw hats adorned with tufts of coloured fur.



We visited two cities, Chefchaouen – the blue city – with its Casbah – it’s old medieval town with its winding narrow lanes snaking around the hilltop, the houses steps, even the paths painted in a variety of shades of blue. Many of the old buildings have been modernised, many sprout satellite dishes from their flat roofs. Most have electricity, and water, but the communal taps are still in use – there’s no tax to use them, or the mountain streams, so the women can still be seen scrubbing carpets, and treading the washing, then hanging it on the rocks to dry.





Arriving in Tetuoun, the white city, Ahmed asked if we would like lunch. Western food, or traditional local fare? The chance to try a shish kebab and couscous was a winner. Fully replete, it was off to the souk. Amongst its whitewashed walls you can buy anything. Carpets of course, even a remote control for a twenty year old TV, and computers from a bygone age. New plastic bowls and clay tagines, new clothes, old clothes and shoes –new and second-hand spill from the stalls, or laid out on the dusty road. Then there are the herbs and spices, wonderful breads, vegetables, meat, and fish. The smell of the souk is unforgettable.

All was fresh, the fish not long caught. The chicken was certainly fresh – still running around. The blood and trimmings from the butchered meat and fish was then washed down with buckets of water and run down the central gutter of the narrow street….I rolled my trousers up!



Sailing back to Gib was an experience! The forecast light easterly blew 18-20kts. The wind against tide lifted short steep waves to 3+metres, and the thick fog hid all from sight – as we crossed on of the busiest shipping lanes in the world!
At last the wind returns – we hope – so tomorrow we sail out into the Atlantic, destination Porto Santo 30M north of Madeira.

The Rock

There really is no question as to who owns the "Rock", Britian? Spain? It's the Apes!


There is not much there, a big rock, some reclaimed land, and an airstrip, but its what's inside the rock is fascinating.

At one end there is St Michaels' Cave which has some fabulous stalagtites. The main cavern is cleverly used for concerts - an experience for another day. The section through the fallen stalagtite reveals the beauty created by nature over time, with water drawing down, and realigning the elements of the rocks



At the other end, are the Great Siege Tunnels. Dug through the rock with pick, shovel, and gunpowder, they served to fire down on the attacking Spanish, the heavy cannons having been dragged by hand up the rock.

No visit to Gib would be complete without a courtesy visit to the RGYC, and the hope of sailing one of their Victories. The welcome was warm and friendly. Their new club boasts workshops and boat storage, a marina, views across the harbour, all enjoyed from their terrace... or bar, or restaurant, or swimming pool..... where did the Portsmouth Victory Class go wrong?



Gib done, time to move on. A new contient awaits across the Straits - Africa. Morocco's Atlas mountains reach 2500m to touch the clouds. Mmm tagines, couscous, Souks, and Casbah's....

The One that got Away.......

Fishing is big all down this coast. Leaving Baiona the sea was glassy-flat. Engine on, we motored our way towards the border. Pot-markers littered the sea turning it into a slalom course. From the cliffs a fishing boat sped out turning at the last moment to pass, not across our wake but our bows. As he passed lobster-pots tumbled from his transom. Two boat lengths ahead of us he zig-zagged across our bow miles of floating line running from his stern. The result was inevitable. The underwater winch (propeller) wound the line tightly round the shaft. the engine stopped. We were caught.

Meet the Locals!



They thought it a great game. Graham donned his dive gear, bread knife in hand, and we were free. Thankfully no damage done.

No trip down the west coast of Portugal is complete without a stop at Nazare. A quaint old town with its bullring sits atop of the cliffs, narrow streets of little family run restaurants hide behind the sandy beach where freshly caught sardines air-dry on the racks, before being sold, by the old fisher-folk still in their traditional dress, to passers-by.


Nazare hit the headlines in the world press on 30th January 2013, when a surfer rode the biggest wave in the world. Now it’s a mecca for surfers. Its long sandy beaches stretch for miles. Beach fishing is difficult as the waves, even on a calm day, are big enough to surf, and crash noisily on the sand. Rock fishing is, however, popular – even from the top of the cliffs!

It was a good feeling to round Cape St Vincent. The weather changed instantly. Head winds became tail winds, the sky became a mass of stars. Now, a new challenge – tuna nets! Tuna nets are on, or near the surface. Perpendicular to the shore, and can be a mile or so long, and they are guarded fiercely.

The multi-coloured cliffs, sandy beaches, and Mediterranean climate of the Algarve attract the tourists, and the harbours are buzzing. Busy bars, great seafood, and a great mix of nationalities guarantees a great party atmosphere; and the party goes on well into the night.

The friendliness of the locals is great. Whilst in Vilamoura, and short of propane gas, I went in search. Quite randomly, I asked in a kiosk that was advertising sailing, and trips to see the caves. The owner was so helpful. He gave up explaining, got out his car, and drove me, and the empty gas tanks, the twenty miles to the only garage able to fill them, then brought me back to the boat. Invited onboard, he carried one tank as we chatted, and payment – my round next time we met, he insisted.
Portugal to the left – Spain to the right

The Rio Guardiana marks the end of Portugals 500 miles of coastline. Entering the river was like entering Chichester Harbour, keep to the port hand marks for deeper water, kitesurfers on the east side sandbanks. We headed for the Spanish marina of Ayamonte and its pretty old town. The Habas con Choco was delicious (broad beans and cuttlefish)!


The one that didn’t get away

Galicia

Common Dolphins play around the boat.



Dragging ourselves away from Galicia, NW Spain, was tough. It’s a great area. Lovely people, great scenery, and the Rias - just fabulous.



Our last stop in Galicia, was just a brief sail from Vigo, and what a contrast. Vigo has taken quite a knock in this financial climate. Much is closed, new builds are abandoned unfinished, and the docks appear very run-down. By Contrast, Bayona, just 10 miles away is a bustling old town, set in the shadow of the old fortifications and nestling behind the headland on the southern side of the Ria da Vigo.




The Marinero helped us secure to the club pontoon, briefed us on the layout of the facilities, and explained it was their ORC National Regatta weekend so there was a big party, and we were invited. The clubhouse is excellent. Set in the old fort, with ramparts, arches and old portcullises, overlooking the secure bay with its sandy beaches, it wasn’t difficult to enjoy the free beer, and free tapas, as the music played.
Monte Real Club de Yates Baiona.

A Glass of Ale - well Beer aka Eurofizz

A large beer to wash all that salt away is a great way to end the day!

France Cameret €6
Douarnenez €5
Spain La Coruna €2.50
Vilagarcia €2.30 with great (free) tapas with every pint

I could stay a while......

A Little view of La Coruna

0600 Change of Watch

It had been a dark night, very dark, and damp too, no rain, just some spray, but mostly that clammy damp that makes everything feel wet. Even the dawn seemed late.

Across the water they came. Streaks of grey, travelling at enormous speed, twisting and turning like sidewinder missiles, only to dive, or turn, or erupt from the water to avoid the otherwise inevitable collision. They were small dolphins, the smallest we have seen, but these had not come to play. They were not riding our bow-wave. They were on a feeding frenzy.

Attracted by the lights of the boat, the tuna recognised their danger too late. In their desperate bids for freedom they burst from the depths like fireworks to avoid the rockets that were chasing them. Mouths open the dolphin contorted in the air, snapping their beaks shut on their fast food breakfast.

It was awesome to watch. The dolphin worked as a team, some corralling their prey into bait-balls, while others attacked from below. Avocette was “front row in the circle”, a fantastic view.

The Ria de Arousa is huge, a great sunken river valley, surrounded by mountains in which nestle clusters of pretty white-walled houses with traditional terracotta roofs. We are in Vilagarcia, a town 18 miles from the sea, steeped in history, with its castles, convents, and markets. Fishing is big here, and fish-farms abound. I think we should sample their wares…