Job Done

Slipping out of the Ria Arousa the forecast 4-5m swell lifted us, and the NW wind pushed us. Heading south we passed the River Minho, and crossed the border from Spain into Portugal. Stars littered the night sky, the sun lit the day, onwards we rolled south. Passing Lisbon the wind died. The engine sprung to our assistance, pushing us onwards, soon the Light of Cape St. Vincent led us round the corner, and onto the Algarve, and so we tied up in Lagos, our journey done, and Wandering Dream nudged onto her new berth.

With VAT at 23% there's more than a little unrest in the country, and everyone's on strike. No planes home then! Better have another beer.........

Fresh Fish & Tapas

Rounding the rocky island that guards the entrance to the Ria Arousa, the warm air falling from the mountains, we dipped and dived through the fishing boats, and wound our way up to the town of Vilagarcia and its friendly welcome.

Smiling faces greeted us, and with the beer came the tapas - and only a euro a time! The problem was with every beer,or wine, more tapas. Even in the cafe at ten in the morning when you order a tea, or coffee, it comes with orange juice and a cake or croissant!

A visit to the market is a must. The food is so fresh, and compared to England, cheap. The big difference was the enourmous variety, and just how fresh it all was. So fresh that the shrimps, prawns and langoustine were all still alive.

Black

It was black, very black. The sky above was inky too – lit by a myriad of twinkling lights. Plosh, flip, slap -the blackness alongside was being carved-up. We were crossing the continental shelf. First a few then more. And more, then more. From all directions they came. Ten? Twenty? Fifty or more? I don't know, but dolphins, then porpoises, came out of the blackness to play. Their ghost-like silhouettes streaking through the water, a trail of bioluminescence erupting in their wake. They arrived just before my watch started, and left after it had finished, four hours later

The winters dawn broke slowly. The back sea turning a steely blue, reflecting the sky above. Slowly the eastern horizon turned a burnished brass, through gold, to welcome the burning orb as it rose to proclaim the day, and a school of porpoise joyfully flipped by, and pilot whales ambled past on a reciprocal course.

We had waited a week for this weather window. Gale after gale had targeted the English Channel bringing SW 7-8 and big seas crashing against the Brest Peninsula. Sheltered in the sleepy Breton port of Camaret we missed the worst. Windy, yes, but often blue skies, allowing us to enjoy the Ile de Crozon, as the area is known.

Moule & frites, followed fabulous fish dishes, not to mention the occasional glass, all enjoyed in the company of new sailing friends. A couple from the US regaled us with tales and photos of their trip in a 30ft boat, via Greenland, icebergs and Iceland; and the Chileans, with their stories of Cape Horn and Puerto William, their home port, encouraging us to visit Chile. In return we shared our experiences on the passages south from here to the Cabo Verde, and the Caribbean – their destinations, on their way home.

Leviathans from the deep guided us around the “Coast of Death”, as this corner of Galicia is known,. As I climbed into my bunk the sounds of the deep penetrated the hull. The frantic clicks , echo location, of the dolphins, and the song of a whale somewhere below, sent me to sleep.