It does not matter how off-putting it feels before you get going, you never regret it afterwards. On the contrary, satisfaction, joy and a sense of achievement are feelings that make themselves known when you get back. Beautiful scenery is important. A sea or lake view is preferable, not too many hills, no traffic and no stray dogs if possible. The smell of sea and seaweed makes running easier. A tour around a more select district where you can look at the lovely houses, gardens and sumptuous flower beds is not bad either. A scenic run invigorates the mind, it means a lot to your sense of well-being. La Coruña offers all this and more.
This is a place where it is not a good idea to think about having dinner too early. Last time we were there we went out at midnight when the restaurants in the alleys and around the beautiful square were just beginning to fill up. Now, they seemed better adjusted to the rest of the EU, so we were able to sit down in one of the excellent restaurants as early as about 10.30 at night. Strolling along the alleys and sipping a coffee in the square after dinner were our favourite evening pastimes.
On one of our final evenings we passed a bar with people crowding around the tables and spilling all the way into the street, and we could hear Spanish popular music from inside. We entered and did not come out again until several hours later after we had danced and admired all the odd couples of all ages that filled up the room. We enjoyed ourselves immensely. At the table next to ours was a group of old ladies, all over seventy and dressed up to the nines. At first they danced with each other, then they were asked to dance by some less elegant gentlemen, but they were cheerful as well as great dancers. At another table were some young, cool girls who were sipping multi-coloured cocktails. They looked up every now and again, possibly casting longing glances at the dance floor, but then they would return to their drinks. We did not leave until three in the morning. We never stay up that late unless we are sailing. The lady who was singing was fantastic. Her hair was short and bleached; she was wearing a black miniskirt, red shoes with a matching bow on her chest and black pearls around her neck and in her ears. She sang and danced until the whole room rocked and everyone joined in the chorus. We had great fun all night long.
The following evening, our last in La Coruña, we were there again with a glass of white wine each and wearing our dancing shoes. This time the amazing singer was assisted by a sweet-voiced gentleman, very articulate and self-absorbed and not very keen on giving up the mike. He did everything he could to take over the stage. When we left in the early hours of the morning we tipped the lady and told her that it was a pity she did not have the stage all to herself. She smiled sweetly. We would have liked to stay another couple of nights, not only because of our newly discovered singer and the nice Spanish dance hall, but because we really liked the town.
On fine days we would cycle up to the Torres de Hercules lighthouse, stopping at one of the lovely bathing coves nearby. We lay in the sun reading, we swam, but only once did we think the Atlantic a little too cold.
I bought the Spanish gossip magazine Hola. One day I managed to get through a four-page feature on Nicole Kidman's wedding and the next an article about the Spanish crown prince's summer holiday on Mallorca together with his wife. I hoped to learn a few new words; reading magazines is a good way of learning. Advertising is also a good source of everyday vocabulary.
The day before we set off we paid our harbour fee, which was very reasonable. La Coruña later turned out to have been the most reasonably priced marina of our entire voyage. I also went to the market to buy some fruit and vegetables. I found tomatoes of a kind that you cannot find in the shops in Sweden. They tasted the way tomatoes should taste: sweet and lovely. I bought several kilos of peaches that were sweet, juicy and smelled lovely. I bought white and yellow peaches, and a type called Paraguay peaches that were shaped rather like dates. A couple of kilos of each found their way to the fridge on board.
You should never sail past La Coruña. You must visit the town, spend a few days there and enjoy the street life. I am sure we will return.
The distance from La Coruña to Cascais, which is just outside Lisbon in Portugal, is 335 nautical miles; a distance that only takes us one and a half days to cover. We wanted to arrive before dark, so we started early in the morning. It was a wonderful. We were aided by the strong northerly wind that prevails along the Portuguese coast at this time of year. The tailwind was blowing at about 20–30 knots, the jib was set, the sun was shining and we enjoyed every minute of it while we ate the peaches I had bought at La Coruña. All this made for a wonderful voyage down to Cascais.
The wind suddenly picked up when we only had a couple of more hours left to go. After a few minutes the wind speed was nearly 48 knots. We had to reef quickly and change the jib. It is always a relief that changing sails as soon as the weather changes quickly is so easy on board Yaghan. We never need to get up on deck to reef the sails, unless we have to reef the genoa and remove the whisker pole. Being able to do everything from the cockpit adds to the safety on board. The rest of the crossing was just as windy, but we still did not arrive until about ten at night. By that time it was pitch black.
There are plenty of fishing flags off the coast of Portugal, and they are hard to detect, especially in the dark. After cruising back and forth between the flags we were able to enter the harbour without incident. The marina was staffed, even at this time of night, and we were told where to moor. It was not easy since there was a high pressure side wind, but with Arne at the helm and with the help of the bow thrusters it went swimmingly, as usual. It was nice to have arrived. It was only the beginning of summer, and we had made it all the way to Portugal. Life at sea was wonderful.
We had chosen Cascais rather than Lisbon. The reason was that a few years earlier we had spent a few days in Lisbon with the Institut Internationale d’Études Bancaire (IIEB), an association of major European banks. After that we felt we had seen the city, and, moreover, you have to sail a rather long stretch on the River Tejo to reach it. The Tejo is not only long; it is rather shallow in places. So Cascais it was. What we wanted to do most of all was to go on cycling excursions in peace and quiet.
Cascais is a fashionable resort. It has always been popular with the Portuguese jet set. We spent a few wonderful, energetic days there. Every morning we went jogging in the sun along the wide and pleasant coastal walk that circles the town. We ran either five or eight kilometres, and on the way back we always ran past a bakery to buy fresh rolls for breakfast. Having breakfast on board after a morning run is absolutely wonderful. It is even more enjoyable when you feel you have earned it.
One day we brought out our English folding bikes and cycled north in search of a perfect bathing beach. It took us half a day of cycling across rough and hopeless terrain to find one. We had to carry our bikes down rocks and dunes for hours before we could spread our towels and rest our tired arms and legs. The next day we settled for a reasonably good beach. The cycling was easier and more pleasant, and we did not have to carry our bikes. On other days we cycled south instead along the coastal walk over to some cosy restaurant where we had grilled sardines and good, white Portuguese wine.
The day before we were due to leave, the jetties were invaded by match-racing girls from all over the world. The start was the following day, and so far the Swedish girls were second after the French who were in the lead, so Swedish girls are not only strong in golf, athletics and downhill skiing.
On our final evening we went to one of the best restaurants in Cascais, the Visconde da Luz, where we had grilled lobster served by a proud and contented waiter. He looked as if he had caught it himself. We like lobster, especially when we cook it ourselves and serve it warm with toast and champagne to drink. We definitely prefer Spanish cooking to Portuguese, possibly with the exception of this meal. We still had not found a match for Rotterdam, though.
After leaving Cascais we sailed the 130 nautical miles to Lagos. A warm and pleasant tailwind took us further south. We were looking forward to Lag
os, which is an old city with a dark past. Its prosperity was based on the African slave trade. The former slave market at the centre of town has been turned into an art gallery. These days, tourism is a major source of revenue. There is a nice marina, the Lagos Marina, where we stayed the last time we came here. Within walking distance there is a good and well-stocked supermarket where you can buy fresh fish, seafood, meat and a wide selection of fruits and vegetables. We were planning on replenishing our supplies before setting off for the Canary Islands. We also wanted to go cycling in search of some nice beaches, preferably typical Algarve sandy coves in between sheer, red rocks.
I sent an e-mail to the marina with our ETA, Yaghan's measurements and how long we wanted to stay. We told them that we would probably not arrive until eight or nine in the evening. It was perhaps a little late considering the bridge that we had to pass before entering the marina. But according to their website it would not close until 9.30, so we should be able to get there in time. When we rounded Cabo de São Vicente we estimated that there were only two hours left to Lagos, but the wind soon dropped and we lost speed. We continued under sail for a while, but then we turned on the engine to try and get to the marina before they closed at 9.30.
As we were passing along the canal towards town with the marina in sight in the distance we still thought that we would be able to check in and that the bridge would open for us. This was not the case. Nothing seemed to work out on this particular evening. The marina claimed not to have received our e-mail booking, even though I had brought a paper copy with me. The address was correct, but they maintained that they had not received the booking. They were not sure they would be able to make a mooring available, certainly not for the night, but maybe tomorrow morning. They were about to close even though it was only 9 p.m. so there was no question of the bridge opening either. We had not expected this kind of reception. We were forced to try and find a mooring on our own. We found a small jetty nearby with a sign saying that it was reserved for a sightseeing boat, but according to some passers-by it would not arrive until the next day. We took the risk and quickly moored Yaghan alongside the jetty. Several sailing boats were heading towards us from the now closed marina office; there would be many of us spending the night at this jetty. Despite everything going wrong we were happy to be in Lagos. It was our last European port we would visit for the next three years.
The following afternoon we inflated our dinghy for a tour down the coast west of Lagos in search of a nice beach where we could spend the rest of the day sunbathing, swimming and reading. We considered bringing along our webcam as well as a camera, but decided not to, which later turned out to be a wise decision. I put on my new, cool purple and green, cat eye glasses that I had bought in Stockholm only a few days before we left. I had been worried about them falling overboard, so I had not used them yet. But I simply could not put them away for the rest of our voyage. These were the coolest glasses I had ever owned! We also packed swim suits, towels, books and the keys to the boat.
While motoring along the coast after exiting the canal we realised that we would have to go a good distance to the west in order to avoid the major, overcrowded beaches. We wanted a small, private beach. In the end we picked one with only one or two sunbathing couples. As we got closer to land we noticed that the swell was rather unpleasant, the surf was strong where the water started to get shallow. I wanted to turn back – normally, it does not take much for me to want to get out of the dinghy. We continued towards land; then suddenly we lost control of the dinghy. We capsized in one-metre-deep water ten metres from the shore. The dinghy with its almost brand new Honda was overturned, and we ended up in the water. I lost my purple and green glasses when I fell into the water, and I could not see them anywhere. Even worse was that the Honda had ended up upside down in the water. It took us several minutes before we were able to turn it over with the help of two kind men. They had been relaxing on the beach with their families when they suddenly saw us capsizing in the surf. When they saw that Arne and I were unable to turn the dinghy they came running out to help. In the end we managed to salvage both the dinghy and the motor and to grab hold of our bag with the boat keys seconds before it disappeared into the waves. I never saw my glasses again.
I am afraid of water, and I thought the whole experience unpleasant. I do not like tiny dinghies, and I definitely do not like to travel in one in choppy water. We had to go back to Yaghan in it, which was not great. The tide was going out and the surf was now even stronger. After a few hours we made our first attempt at leaving the beach. Our neighbours again helped us push the boat out, with us on board. Arne rowed frantically, and after a while we reached deeper, calmer waters, but the motor was completely dead. It showed no sign of life when we tried to start it, and we had to start rowing. We assumed that we would have to spend hours at the oars before we would be back, but we were in luck. After only an hour a tourist boat came within hearing distance. We called out, and they stopped and kindly offered to tow us. On board was a young couple, a Swedish girl from Scania, her boyfriend and the boat's owner. We got back to Yaghan where we invited our saviours to a chilled beer, which was much appreciated.
The following day we tried to find a suitable motor repair shop that could give us some good advice and possibly fix the Honda. We definitely did not want sail to Antarctica and Patagonia with an unreliable motor, so the main issue was whether the motor would be as good after it was repaired as it was before we tried to drown it. After much deliberation we decided to order a new Honda. This turned out to be one of the most expensive days on the beach we have ever had.
About a day before we set off for the Canary Islands I received a package in the post from the optician at La Coruña. I had bought a pair of red glasses that I had seen in their window display. They had promised to deliver them to the Lagos marina before July 22, which was the day we had planned to continue towards the Canaries. Now the much longed for package had arrived.
Before we sailed, however, the teak deck and superstructure had to be cleaned and all the stainless steel fittings polished. In between cleaning we cycled to different beaches. After a couple of long trips we finally discovered a wonderful little beach, one hour from the boat and not far from the place where we had capsized. We spent several afternoons sunbathing, swimming and reading there.
The purple and green cat eye glasses were lost, but here I was with a pair of cool, bright red glasses from La Coruña. A new outboard motor adorned our dinghy – and we were off to the Canary Islands.
We left Lagos and Portugal, and sailed out on to unfamiliar waters. We would not be back in Europe for another three years!
Sunbathing and Swimming in the Canary Islands, but We Are Longing for the Atlantic!
We left Lagos and the European mainland on Saturday July 22 at 1500 hours. The weather was wonderful, almost too nice for leaving our beach. We had both enjoyed Lagos, but it was time to move on. The fascinating, red ochre Algarve coast disappeared in a haze behind us. We were starting out on a 550 nautical mile crossing, which meant that we would not arrive in Lanzarote, our first island, until Tuesday. Puerto Calero on the east side, south of Arrecife, was to be our first harbour in the Canary Islands.
Arne is one of a possibly very small number of Swedes who has never been to the Canary Islands, and since he is a very thorough man he had plotted a route that covered every single island, which meant that we would be spending almost eight weeks there!
The weather at sea was brilliant with strong northerly winds that pushed us along the African coast down towards the Canaries.
Lanzarote is just over one hundred kilometres off the coast of northwest Africa and about ten kilometres north-east of Fuerteventura. Since there had been a lot in the media about boat refugees trying to get to Fuerteventura, we were vigilant, especially at night. We expected the vessels to be small, only showing up as faint echoes on the radar, and they were likely to go without lights. We kept constant watch at night.
It was
hard to see anything at all. The darkness was compact; like sticking your head into a black bin liner. The first watch at night is always a little uncomfortable to begin with. Not being able to see anything or distinguish outlines, the complete darkness is like skiing in fog during snowfall. You feel all giddy. After a while you get used to it, and things start to feel better. We never discovered any boat refugees near Yaghan at any time of the day or night.
It is wonderful to speed through the night with the starry skies like a sheltering hood above. There is a sense of freedom and happiness, sitting behind the wheel, watching the sails. Speed, wind speed and wind direction are displayed on the instrument panel like a rosary above the hatch. I am the only one awake and the music – classical or Ulf Lundell – keeps me company. On a quiet watch I sometimes read. There are two infrared coil lamps on either side of the hatch that do not interfere with my night vision.
On the final day at sea we benefited from Arne's detailed written documentation on the backup routine that would kick into action in case of GPS failure. This is exactly what happened about two hundred nautical miles off shore. We were no longer able to pick up the GPS signal, neither for the digital chart nor for the autopilot. We could no longer obtain accurate co-ordinates for our navigation software and the autopilot.
“Where are we?”
It felt as if we had disappeared from the face of the earth when we could no longer read our position in our Transas navigation software.
Back at the helm - sailing the Yaghan to Antarctica, Patagonia and the South Pacific Page 9
