Costa del Sol, Spain

We had been warned about the high cost, lack of berths and indifference to English yachties on the Costa del Sol, so we had planned to zip through this part of the coast without too many stops.
7th May 2007. Our first scheduled stop was at Estepona, which we thought would be a reasonably priced marina, as we knew several boats that had wintered or stopped overnight there. We tied up alongside the waiting pontoon, which claimed to have 24 hour staffing. It was about 7pm and there was no-one to be seen. We wandered around the pontoons – no-one to be found, so we cooked our dinner and planned to spend the night on the waiting pontoon and be gone early in the morning. At 10.30pm the marinero knocked on the side and asked us to fill in his papers and check in. When we found out that it would be €50 for the night we decided to move on briskly and do an overnight passage instead. The mariner was kind enough to let us eat our dinner before we left and turn a blind eye to our short stay on the waiting pontoon. A lunch stop here is €25 so we were pleased with his generosity!
We had an uneventful motor along the coast, with virtually no fishing boats, no ships to be seen and a tranquil flat sea. The peace was briefly broken at about 3 am, by the deep sound of a high-speed boat that showed on radar at 1 mile but had no lights. It disappeared quickly into the night and off radar. Drug boat, we both agreed and Stu went back to sleep and I continued my watch. The lights of Marbella and Malaga winked past in an unbroken line along the coast but by morning we were sailing past the fairly undeveloped coastline of Almeria, still showing the benefit of starvation of development by Franco in the 60s, but now starting to catch up with its neighbouring costas, and the snow-capped Sierra Nevada mountains in the background. We studied the pilot book, and found a reasonably sheltered anchorage at La Herradura. This was close to Almenucar where Laurie Lee witnessed the outbreak of the Spanish Civil war in 1936. We had a restful couple of nights at anchor and our first swim of the season. The water was already warmer than the UK at its best!

 The Sierra Nevada and Costa de Almerimar

Our own anchorage at La Herradura in fine settled weather

Almerimar : 10-23 May
We next found ourselves at Almerimar marina. We just popped in to find out the costs, preparing ourselves for a quick departure based on the Estepona experience. We were amazed to find it was €9 per night (water and power extra), so we booked in for a couple of nights. This marina has 1000 berths in 3 large basins, surrounded by shops, apartments, beaches, restaurants. It is a boat city, but completely lacks character and atmosphere. We were pleased to be able to get wifi on board the boat, and that there was a huge well-stocked Mercadona supermarket on site. There is also a VHF net broadcast every morning, similar to that of Lagos, so you could keep up to date with events, buy sell and swap gear, and find out a daily weather report. This turned out to be immensely valuable as Cabo de Gata headland is the local nasty to be avoided in bad weather and almost impossible to round in a north easterly due to the sea-state and currents. Almerimar had us hostage for 14 nights in the end, as we waited for the right weather slot to move up the south east coast safely.
A few Lagos boats arrived – Dawn Chaser, Roamer, Birvidik, and we made some new acquaintances – Pam and Dave on ‘Will You’ and Pete and Lyn on “Huit Huit” who were full of useful information.  Pete and Lyn had cruised the Spanish coast and the Balearics several times so we had a pilot book party and made notes in our new pilot book from their suggestions as to where to head for, good anchoring spots and where to pick up water supplies.
A German live-aboard was selling LED lights that he makes up himself to your specification – we had been searching for the right ones for sometime, so we availed ourselves of his services. LED lights use very little power, so they are great as anchor lights, and saloon lights, reading lights etc. If you are anchored and need to watch your power consumption vs. battery charging ability, LED lights are invaluable. All that we needed now was the right light shades …..

David, the weather man, introduced us to a couple of really useful weather sites:
www.inm.es  the Spanish met office website and www.meteosim.com . By studying the weather buoy data we could check whether the sea-state was suitable for departure, avoiding the hassle of leaving, having a nasty day on the water, only to have to return to Almerimar.
We got a lot of jobs done on the boat, varnishing the woodwork and protecting the sails and ropes from chafe – it was a useful and cheap stopover, but finally a weather window developed and we were off like a shot.

We rounded Cabo de Gata in a still lumpy and rolly sea and even managed to sail in light winds. We had decided to head straight out to the Balearic Islands overnight as we were having such a nice sail in 8 knots of wind, with twin head sails poled out and no main sail. At about 2pm Stuart looked behind us and saw the water getting choppier, so we decided to drop the big lightweight hank-on genoa in case the wind speed was on the increase. At this point the Navtex spewed out a gale warning for all areas of the western Mediterranean.
Luckily we got the lightweight genoa packed away and down inside in good time, but no sooner had we done that, we had to wind away the roller-furling genoa bit by bit. The wind swung around to the NW 120 degree swing, and increased to35 and peaked at 45 knots!!!  We were running around closing hatches, and getting the spray hood up as we were being soaked by the spray of the rapidly building sea. This transformation from light wind ghosting to full stormy seas took about 45 minutes, a Mediterranean speciality.  We decided to head into the lee of the mainland, as although we were in no danger, we didn’t know how long these conditions might last. We motored up into the lee of the headland and headed straight into a new cheap marina at Santa Pola, which had been recommended to us by ‘Will You’. We were very thankful that we had not been too far out to sea when this weather came through – it was a salutary lesson as to how quickly the Med weather can change. With no tides to overcome, the sea state changes and builds as rapidly as the wind speed increases, and then only dies away slowly after the wind has stopped.
Santa Pola marina has only just opened and is almost empty.  It was €11 a night, the pontoons very solid and the bathrooms luxurious. We were happy to tie up for a few days – first job being to wash the salt crystals off the outside of the boat.  Santa Pola is a nice town, not touristy, and has Chinese shop warehouses where you can buy almost anything. Every town in Spain and Portugal has a Chinese shop – however small the village –well stocked with all sorts of tat, amongst which you can usually find something useful – a tool, a plastic tray for the fridge, a kitchen utensil. In Santa Pola we found 2B pencils for chart work at 35cents each, and some teak pencil holders for 65 cents, which Stuart is making into LED light shades!  Bargains galore!
Leaving the marina, and heading out from the mainland we had a rough and windy start to the 100 mile passage to the Balearics, thinking – here we go again! – But thankfully the wind moderated after a couple of hours and we motor-sailed overnight. Again it was a very uneventful passage, with just a few ships and fishing boats sighted. We take it in turns to be on watch for 2-4 hours at a time, for short trips overnight this is no problem, as you can catch up on sleep once you arrive.
It took 24 days from Ceuta to reach the Balearic Islands. We were lucky to have anchored in settled weather when possible, and to find a couple of cheap marinas. The marina charges were due to increase to summer rates within a few days of our departure from each place, so we had got in just in time. Will we be so lucky in the Balearics, given all the tales of woe that we have heard from ‘helpful’ souls who wish to fill our heads with all sorts of information?

Spain, Gibralter and Morocco

Ayamonte again
Our arrival in Ayamonte co-incided happily with Semana Santa or Holy Week. The week is celebrated by a series of processions day and night throughout every Spanish town and village. After watching one of the processions from one of the 9 churches in the town of Ayamonte, which doesn’t even warrant its own sentence in the Rough Guide to Spain, we were so impressed with the spectacle that we hatched a plan to go and see Semana Santa in ‘the’ place to see it – Seville. It’s widely reputed that the only accommodation left in Seville in Holy Week is exceptionally expensive, so we planned to travel up by bus (2 hours) in the afternoon of Maundy Thursday, stay up all night as the Spanish do anyway, and travel back the following day. We put a few essentials in a small rucksack and set off on an adventure.
             
An overland intermission in Seville (Maundy Thursday)
On arrival in Seville it soon became apparent that the best bet was just to follow the streams of  people who clearly knew where to head for to see the next procession. It was a great night, interspersed by warm-ups in bars with a few tapas to see us through the night. A hotel would certainly have been a waste of money, as we wouldn’t have seen much of it!
It was lovely to see so many people, many of them teenagers and young adults, genuinely enjoying the spectacle of their religion. As each pasos (processional float) passed by, a reverent hush would descend on the crowd. We walked miles and stood for hours.

One procession we viewed had a full 1,700 participants slowly moving past in various religious costumes from the tall pointed hat brigade to fully armed roman centurion outfits, feathers galore. Daybreak seemed to arrive very quickly. All the kids were still up, in or following the processions, all well behaved, not a single drunk seen all night despite all the bars still being open. We left on the 10am bus, halfway through the 12 hour procession that had started at 2am and would not finish until lunchtime. Despite the rigors of being on their feet all this time, and lugging around heavy (1 Ton) pasos, and the band having been marching and playing throughout the parade and still with 3 hours to go, they were all in remarkably good spirits. For us it was time to take the bus back to Ayamonte for sleep.

Thanks to Wikipedia for the following explanation of Semana Santa in Seville for those interested in the background to the processions. Other Spanish cities have processions; Malaga is apparently the next best to Seville if you are passing through the area at Easter sometime.
‘Holy Week in Seville
Seville arguably holds some of the most elaborate processions for Holy Week. A tradition that dates from Counterreformation times, or even earlier. The "Semana Santa en Sevilla" is notable for featuring the procession of "pasos", lifelike wood sculptures of individual scenes of the events that happened between Jesus' entry in Jerusalem and his burial, or images of the Virgin Mary showing restained grief for the torture and killing of her son. Some of the images are of great antiquity and artistic masterworks. These "pasos" (which usually weigh over a metric tonne) are physically carried on the neck of costaleros (literally "sack men", for its distinctive -and functional- headdress). The "costaleros" (from 24 to 48) are hidden inside the platform of the "paso", so it seems to walk alone. Historically dock workers were hired to carry the "pasos". From 1973 onward, that task has been universally taken over by the members of the confraternities who organize each procession.

The "pasos" are set up and maintained by hermandades and cofradías, religious brotherhoods, confraternities or sodalities, which precede the "pasos" (up to 3) dressed in penitential robes. Some of the processions are near 3000 persons each. In Seville, but for some officials, "costaleros", acolytes and a few other exceptions every participant must wear penitential robes and be hooded. A brass band may accompany the group, playing funereal religious hymns or "marchas" written for the occasion. Some processions are silent with no musical accompaniment. As each procession leaves its home church, called a salida, as well at its return (the entrada) and along the march route there are special extemporaneous songs offered by individuals in the crowd or a balcony. These songs are generically called saetas (arrows).

A total of 58 processions (as of 2007) occur during the week, from Palm Sunday through Easter Sunday morning. On Maundy Thursday there are two sets of processions. One group occurs during the afternoon and evening. The second set begins near midnight and continues until early afternoon on Good Friday. The most famous processions occur this night (the madrugá), including Jesus del Gran Poder, Esperanza - Macarena, and Esperanza - Triana.’

After all the excitement, we returned to Ayamonte to watch the smaller, but nonetheless elaborate processions over the weekend culminating in the colourful and upbeat Easter Sunday parade, where the penitents are not hooded and the ladies join the parade in traditional Andalucian headdresses.

We were ready to move on, having decided to enjoy the Costa de Luz for a while, which is reported to be the last delightful stretch of Spain before the Costas del Sol and Blanca, with glorious beaches around towns that still retain some of their original character.

Isla Christina/Isla Canela
Our first trip was just a few miles up the coast to free us from the tide constraints of the shallows outside Ayamonte. We approached Isla Christina marina, but were told that we were 40cm too long for their marina!!! We went across to Isla Canela in the same harbor, which is an up market apartment complex with absolutely no character at all. At least it was cheap. Just could not wait to get out of there!
Chipiona
Next day we motored 50 miles in desperation to get to Chipiona. When we arrived, I thought that maybe all the people had been abducted by aliens – it was so quiet that nothing stirred! We stayed a couple of days here while we sorted out the phone, and did some shopping. It is a long and boring walk into the town. Once there, it was pleasant enough, the bars cheap and not too touristy. The beaches were lovely, and it had an air of a once popular tourist destination that has got lost along the way and is in a sleepy decline.
Rota
We were soon ready for a move, and 15 miles to Rota was not too strenuous.
Rota is at the north end of the Bay of Cadiz, and is better known for the huge US Naval and air force base opposite the marina. Once inside the marina, the only evidence of the base, was a few helicopter and planes overhead, but they were not too much of a distraction. The old town is lovely in the daytime, with a happy, Spanish feel to it. There’s plenty of shopping and bars to be enjoyed, and a very traditional bodega where you can sample all sorts of sherry from barrels at 40 cents a go. At night however the town was full of loud yanks, drinking and showing off their cars and stereos to young Spanish girls.
There is a chain of government run marinas through Andalucía, (www.eppa.es) which are very cheap (€13.50 per night) and our choice of stop is largely determined by the availability of these marinas at the moment, particularly given our experience the next day….
El Puerto de Santa Maria
Across the Bay of Cadiz we visited a private yacht-club for a change. It was lovely, although in a state of decay. There is a swimming pool there (empty) and tennis courts (full) and a bar on the river (very nice). The town was closed for the afternoon (Saturday), although it was very pleasant. It is where the sherry is brought down from Jerez to be stored and shipped. Fortunately all the bodegas were closed so we couldn’t get into trouble!! The downside of this place is the price - €35 per night – the most expensive yet of the whole trip. The friendly marinero(captain of the port), clearly felt sorry for us paupers, and gave us some freshly caught fish for our supper! And some advice on how to save some marina fee money (by lying!) which we will take up at later opportunities.
We moved to a heavenly anchorage to the west of the river entrance and stayed for free – enjoying the tranquility after all the other boats had gone back to their marinas, leaving us to enjoy the views of the bay all by ourselves.

Puerto America (Cadiz)
We were keen to spend a couple of days in the 3000 year old city of Cadiz. We could have done this by ferry from Rota or Santa Maria, but the last ferries left the town at 8pm, so we would have been unable to experience the nightlife of the city. Instead we approached this marina with some trepidation, as the pilot book could not have been more negative about its charms! It is true that it is in the middle of a building site, and the toilet block is some distance from the visitors berths, but it is cheap, half empty and only a 10 minute walk to the start of the old city and the bus station, with good connections to many other cities. We were very pleased to be here, as within a day our friends Davy and Kate from Roamer had joined us, and the wind started howling out of the Straits of Gibraltar, which it has now done for 7 days making any further progress east very uncomfortable if not nearly impossible. The wind in the Gibraltar straits , gateway to the Med, blows hard either west or east 300 out of 360 days. We couldn’t have been delayed in a nicer place though, and we managed a few trips out on the bus, to Seville again, and to Santa Maria on a day when it was open (and very pleasant!) and many days of wandering the endless ancient streets of Cadiz. Cadiz is one of the oldest cities in Spain and every kind of architecture from roman to new is crammed on the small peninsula. It is an incredible sight, plenty of decaying buildings as a result of the limestone used to build and it’s weakness to the attack of the salt air. There is more restoration going on in this tiny area than I have ever seen. A huge effort to shore up and preserve the front facades whilst completely rebuilding the insides of ancient apartment blocks and historic buildings will ensure that this special city retains its special character for future generations. Steph: My  Spanish is coming on really well, as long as I don’t have to speak to anyone or to understand anything said to me! If we could communicate in writing we would get along just fine…… It’s not helped by the Andalusian accent, which doesn’t include most of the consonants at the end of the words!
While we were enjoying a glass of something cold during a shopping trip one day in Cadiz, we heard lots of car horns and shouting and everyone seemed to be sporting the same yellow scarf. It transpired that this was a parade of cars and people announcing a general strike in the bar of Cadiz the following day. A huge motor parts factory – Delphi - had just gone into liquidation, and the strike appeared to be in support of the workers who had been laid off that day. We were prepared for disruption the next day, and unavailability of transport and services as you would expect in a general strike, but the day of the strike was supported by all workers in the area. Not a single bar, café, shop, office was open for the whole day. A few dispirited tourists wandered the deserted shopping streets, filled with uncollected rubbish. If they were in self-catering accommodation, they had no chance of anything to eat, no entertainment, not a single bar in which to rest. It was a phenomenal display of solidarity amongst the businesses, all content to forego a days business and pay to show their support of the Delphi workers – although to what gain it was we’re not so sure. The small Carrefour supermarket, being French and therefore disinterested opened for a few hours and we were able to stock up on a few supplies, such as beer, wine,  vodka and bread! As there were no bars open in which to rest our weary legs, we just perched ourselves outside the supermarket for a little rest, and had a small can of beer to toast the cause!

At the moment we are waiting for the break in the weather to allow us to get to Barbate to await the right tide and wind to enter the straits. It is interesting to note that a lot of cruisers (many of whom do not seem to leave the marina in Lagos) advised us to lay up in a marina for the winter by November, but at that time, the weather was very benign and settled for 3 months until February. Since we have escaped and been on the move again, it has been the most unsettled weather that we have seen, as fronts and lows track across the south of the peninsula.
Gibraltar marinas are allegedly full so we don’t yet know if we will be able to stop there or not.  We also plan a visit to Ceuta – a small Spanish enclave in Morocco just across the narrow bit of the straits, before tracking as quickly as possible along the Costas to the Balearics.  (23 April 2007). 
Gibraltar
After a day delay leaving Barbate for the easterly to cease, we poked our nose round the edge of the massive tunny net (Fixed Tuna nets forming about a 4 mile funnel across the bay, entrapping and coaxing schools of unsuspecting tuna – and dolphins - into the central trap where they are hauled out). We were headed in company with Roamer the 15 miles south to Tarifa and then east to Gibraltar. The 6 knot easterly that wafted around the coast south of Barbate developed to 23 knots off Tarifa but backed down to about 12 knots by Gib. The forecast was westerly but it just doesn’t always do what is expected. The land mass of Spain and Africa have huge influence on the weather systems here. Luckily an advance call had secured us the so called last berths in Gib marina and we were able to spend a few days exploring around. I can’t say it was fantastic and it was the first place we have seen drunken pub culture, the type that you know to keep one eye open for the start of a drunken fight, since leaving the UK.
The airport is alongside the marina, and when I say along side I do mean the Runway is about 100 yards from the moored boats and if there is an aircraft taking off or landing you are not allowed to go near the end of the runway as there is a real danger of a collision with a plane and a mast.
The thing that every tourist has to do in Gibraltar is go up the rock. Unfortunately the tourist hunters know it as well and they’re all there to take your cash and cart you there. 16 pounds will get you there by minibus, herded from point of interest to monkey to vantage point and back in about an hour, and they do try to sell you their trips. Less expensive is the cable car, at least allowing you the time you choose to spend, 8.50 Pounds each. We are not tight ( yes we are) but we found a route through the botanical gardens and up the road to the nature reserve toll gate, paid 50p for entrance and ascended the cliffs via the Mediterranean Steps, a route of some spectacular views around the south east face of the rock and up to the top. Don’t underestimate the climb though. It took us about 2 ½ hours and we could feel it for several days after. But we saw the monkeys and the views and even got ourselves locked in the top cable car / restaurant station when the Sunday shift went home for the day. We managed to climb around the locked gates and make our decent down the road this time and through the older parts of the city.

A day mooching round the shops where the girls stocked up with knickers and tinned meat from M&S and spirits and English stuff from Safeway’s (Now Morrison’s). Spirits were really cheap but wine is cheaper in Spain. 4 Jars of Vegemite, 500 teabags, Cheddar Cheese, Marmite, Diet Tonic, New Electric toothbrush, and 480 liters of diesel (30% cheaper than Spain) we were done with Gib.
16 miles south is Ceuta. A brisk 28 knots of Westerly wind and east going tide gave us a quick but heavy trip across the shipping lanes that reportedly carry 25% of the worlds shipping. Personally I think we have seen more on some trips across the English Channel but not so concentrated and arguably less watchful or willing to alter course a few degrees to go around a small sailing yacht.

Sailing south from the rock across the straits on a typical lively

day

Ceuta is a Spanish enclave on the north coast of Morocco and our first new continent. Being Spanish makes the paperwork easy so it was our choice and quite a good one. Although it’s duty free the prices seem about the same for food as Spain. I believe electronics are cheaper although the choice is much better in duty free Gib. The market just opposite the marina is cheap and had wonderful fish and meat. Some Moroccan influence is visible in the market but it is very clean and we enjoyed a few hours buying little hand made mince things and marinated chicken and fantastic vegetables. We found eating out lacking in choice a bit and had our first meal in a dry restaurant.
Tetouan, Morocco
Roamer caught us up again and with an Australian couple we had last seen in Cascais we decided on a trip into Morocco to Tetouan. Tetouan is about 40 miles over the border and a world apart from this Spanish enclave. Our trip started with a bus to the frontier and the unusual experience of form filling and officialdom associated with the border with Africa and Europe. Touts are everywhere and will sell you anything if you let them, even the official forms to hand over with your passport which are freely given to you by the passport control men. Once through the Spanish side we were encountered by the tour guides, helpful and full of information to help you through the border crossing and then offering assistance in an environment that is so different that it’s hard not to accept and so we did. The guide was courteous and arranged two taxis at 25 Euros return journey, explaining we must not pay them a penny till they delivered us back to the border in one piece. The journey took about 45 minutes to Tetouan. The taxis would not pass an MOT. There was a front seatbelt in one of them but the driver said it wasn’t necessary to put it on - actually there was no catch part so you couldn’t use it anyway. He kindly took the window winder off his door and put it in the back seat so the passengers could share it to adjust the airflow as required. We had to stop for diesel for the 1970s Mercedes but he refused to stop the engine whilst filling, presumably for fear of it not restarting. Our convoy of 2 screamed along past donkeys carrying loads and camels standing around, past road workers living in tents on the roadside and through road works indicated by big rocks placed in the road as warnings to swerve round.

Wow, what a place, streets often only a few feet wide and full of market stalls and little tiny rooms containing shoe makers, leather workers, bakers, clothes makers, you name it.  Surprisingly there was virtually no arm grabbing and hassle to buy things( how much this would have happened without a guide we don’t know – on a couple of occasions he spoke a few sharp words to someone hanging around and they slunk off despondently!) . It seems that tourism really has not touched this place. It is all there for the people not for show. The honesty was amazing: One stall holder refused to sell me a chicken samosa as it was yesterdays and therefore not so safe for visitors to eat, presumably they are used to the bugs as he was quite happy to sell them to the locals. I bought a fresher one on the next stall to him whilst he simply smiled and said it was good I would like it better. We bought some spices and figs and others bought nuts and beans. Our guide became a little disappointed when we refused to buy carpets for the boats from one of the two tourist traps he took us to, the other being a Moroccan Pharmacy where we were dragged off for unwanted neck and back massages and then asked to ensure we tipped the masseur well.  We did not and the guide was a little put out but we had tried to explain that we are not normal punters. By the end he got the message, possibly our purchases finally did the job of convincing him. Scraps of off-cuts of leather for anti chafe patches and meat mincer (the Aussie likes to make his own sausages).

The tannery was impressive, stinking pools of god knows what full of hides at various stages of fermentation, people in waders in yet more pools of dye and others scraping the unwanted fur off cow hides over an old log. This centuries-old industry thrived in the middle of the walled old city, 120,000 people living in homes, crammed with three generations of family, shared hosepipes in the alleys for water. In the alley to the tannery, amongst the wild cats were leather workers and oranges and vegetables piled on the ground, brought in from the mountains by little old wizened ladies, wooden crates of fish smoldered in the sun and old men sat drinking thick coffees and talking. The smells and sights, not all wonderful, almost overpowered your senses.


Lunch was in a lavishly decorated beautiful restaurant in the old town. Clearly there for the tourist as no locals were to be seen but the food was very Moroccan and probably more suitable to our unaccustomed digestive systems than some of the less classy establishments we would have no doubt chosen if the guide had not steered us in here ( for his commission no doubt). No women were seen in any café or restaurant in the town (other than the tourist traps). We were told that if we had entered them the 3 girls would have been refused service!! The guide spoke proudly of the tolerant nature of the people here and how they lived side by side; Jews and Muslims, synagogue next door to mosque. But it is a long way from Ceuta in terms of progress and desire to change and be part of the modern world – although they were quite happy to take Euros from us at Spanish prices for their goods in the tourist traps!
5 hours after arriving the taxis were waiting for us and we were duly delivered back to the border and they were paid. Probably their lucky day judging by the number of taxies parked in huge ranks on the way to the frontier that obviously had not had work that day. The guide was paid and a small tip on top and after a reminder of do’s and don’ts for crossing the border he was off. We all agreed that the 35 Euros for the guide was worthwhile on the first trip but now we were seasoned Moroccan day trippers we would go independent next time and take our chances.

Rias Bajas – La Coruna to Bayona (26th August to 25th September 2006)

Well, we planned to spend a good part of our trip this year in the Galician Rias (deep rivers in the forested hills of the NW corner of Spain), but we weren’t prepared for the temperature of the water, or the English weather. The views were truly breathtaking though, and anyone with an eye for business may consider the option of running a charter business here. We believe that this is the clear objective of the Galician powers-that-be at the moment, as everywhere there are new breakwaters, and promises of new marinas. Don’t let this put you off though, there are still so many unadulterated anchorages to choose from, that it will be many years, if they ever get around to it at all, before it becomes the Sunsail-esque equivalent of the Solent. At the moment you can easily miss your cruising friend in between ports and anchorages as you pass each other in this gigantic cruising ground.

We spent almost a week in A Coruna, as we discovered that we had exhausted our old starter batteries and needed to replace them. See 'Not so Technical' below.  It did give us plenty of time to explore the town and bars and restaurants and to start to feel at home in Galicia.
We continued our impromptu tour of local fiestas, arriving at Ares across the Ria from Coruna, in time for their annual celebration. The band started at midnight with kids sleeping in their seats outside and large, free, bowls of mussels for which the Rias are famous. I haven’t seen such large and succulent mussels in abundance since my early days in New Zealand. They tasted great!

We visited Lage. A small fishing and developing tourist village with a beautiful sweeping golden beach. Unfortunately the Ocean currents made the water so cold, even Stuart could not wade out to wet his nether regions! They just went higher and higher until he had to give up and get out!

Lage

From here we went swiftly onto Camarinas, well known amongst the cruising folk as a beautiful ria. There appeared to be plenty of opportunities to kayak to your own private beach here, and walk in the pine forested slopes, but we were surrounded by grey mullet. The water was so thick with them, particularly in the port that you could almost walk across the water on their backs. As we have come to learn, no-one in Spain eats grey mullet, as they eat sewage and are nature’s way of cleaning up the water. This, combined with the noxious wiff from the fish cannery at night, made us question our motivation of enjoying a late summer swim and kayaking in the ria, and we moved swiftly on. Outside of the town itself the ria is beautiful and looking back it was a shame we didn’t spend a bit longer exploring the outer reaches and bays within.

We entered the next ria, Ria de Mouros, with towering pine forested hills all around. Another lovely beach which was much warmer and swimming was pleasant. First we anchored off a beach, but moved on the next evening due to fishing boat activity – pulling up our tripping line (attached to the anchor) as they pulled their fishing pots, circling the boats in the anchorage.
Off we went to Muros town, an unadulterated anchorage off a fascinating town. Surrounded by cockle pickers on the beach every morning, 100m off our stern, it gave us a rare opportunity to observe real Galician life at work – no illegal Chinese immigrants here it seems. A heavy evening spent here drinking with a couple from London meant a day of not a lot the next day. The day after that we ventured over to Portosin marina (expensive but exceptionally clean with an excellent restaurant and other facilities.) and a trip on the bikes to visit the old town of Noia about 5 miles round the ria, but one you cannot now get to by yacht because of silting of the entrance.

Muros

We moved onto Ria Arosa. Not a long trip but one in thick fog, our least favorite conditions. But once a mile or so into the Ria using a combination of GPS and Radar and the odd glimpse of solid objects, the fog cleared revealing yet another expanse of islands, golden beaches and small ports serving the hundreds of mussel rafts, common throughout the Rias.   We were running low on diesel by now – in Spain and France leisure yachts have to pay duty on diesel, so must find a different source of fuel to that of the fishing boats, whose red diesel is duty free and always available in fishing ports.

We entered a brand new marina, which looked promising as it had a diesel (Repsol) sign and pump, inside the marina. Unfortunately we found that this is only for fishing boats (even though there were none there, nor could they get to the pump). We were directed to the next port along – Cabo Cruz – where you can snuggle up amongst the huge fishing boats on the wall and wake someone up to receive some duty-paid diesel (Gasoil/Gasoleo A). A bizarre contradiction….not a single pleasure boat is based in this port. However the diesel was very clean and courteously served. 40 minutes after filling, we were back anchoring outside the previous marina, with no need to go inside and pay for the night.

A couple of days spent avoiding the rain and shopping in the open market stalls. Old ladies dressed in black with wicker baskets selling fresh produce from the individual small holdings out in the hills surrounding the Ria. Of course, there was a good sized fish market and I bought my first mussels of the trip for cooking on the boat. Steph doesn’t eat shellfish so it’s easier to eat them in a restaurant but I enjoyed a ½ Kilo and vowed to buy ¾ Kg next time.

We next sailed on down past Isla Ons at the entrance of the Ria de Pontevedra, which we did not enter, and onto Iles Cies at entrance of the last of the Galician rias – Ria de Vigo.
These islands are the most beautiful place that we have visited so far. We anchored up and were rapidly boarded by customs officials in a hurry to get their paperwork completed. They have a completely inappropriate boat for the purpose, pointing their bow directly at ours to transfer the officials – inevitably taking off part of our toe-rail (wooden edging) at the bow of the boat. They were most apologetic, and being the only boat in Spanish waters that doesn’t have to carry it’s insurance details on board, they gave us a phone number to ring to speak to their boss, who would be in the office the next day. As our toe-rail needs replacing anyway, we saved ourselves the bother and inconvenience and Stu made a temporary repair. We were just pleased that they hadn’t punctured a hole in the side of the bow, which would have kept us from sailing for some time!
The official form was duly completed – we are used to the questions now, as they are the same ones on the form we fill in at every port and harbour in Spain (and now Portugal).
How many masts? Do we have radar? Do we have VHF? How many on board? Give passport numbers, sign form , and they are happy as Larry and disappear off. They don’t show the slightest interest in looking inside the boat, or asking anything like – Are you carrying any drugs or illegal immigrants?

We didn’t let the incident, or the ensuing rolly night at anchor affect our enjoyment of the islands. In the morning we prepared for a walk around the island, and went ashore in the dinghy. Although we had a plan for landing in the surf, it didn’t quite happen as we intended and Steph sported squelchy shorts all around the island – Stuart of course was completely dry. We climbed to the top of the fairy-tale-castle-like lighthouse, for phenomenal views of this wild coast in all directions.

Iles Cies

After this, Steph was almost dry, but repeated the soaking experience getting into the dinghy and out of the surf to get back to the boat – plus several bruises from climbing in over the back of the dinghy! Stuart was still completely dry once again!

We sailed on, and into the Bayona Yacht Club, set in the grounds of a castle, which has been converted into a luxury parador (Hotel). We made the most of being temporary members of the yacht, which we were told is one of the top four prestigious yacht clubs in Europe. It certainly was full of beautiful ladies-that-lunch who looked like they had never set foot on a yacht, except for perhaps the odd motor-yacht cocktail party.
Apparently, to be a member here is only possible by invite, and by paying around 20,000 Euros joining fee, followed by 70E a month, and then your berthing fee on top of that if you do keep a boat there.

Bayona Yacht Club

After a couple of days exploring the castle grounds and the bars of Bayona, we attempted to leave on the Monday morning. After motoring slowly forward at half speed in blind fog for an hour, we decided that our nerves couldn’t take anymore and we turned back in to the port. Despite radar, we had 2 extremely close encounters with fishing boats, who go about their normal business at full speed in any conditions. It was not for the faint hearted! To turn back was the right choice, as the fog continued to roll in for the next 12 hours.

To save our budget we anchored off the marina, giving up our opportunities to lounge around the yacht club. Here we met all sorts of interesting cruising folk, from 30’ to 60’ boats, some without engines (out of choice), one waiting weeks for a new gearbox to arrive. We felt comfortable that we are not particularly late in the season, as there are plenty of others out there, and many still just arriving from their Biscay crossing.

The next day brought bad news from the marina. The red cross had issued a bad weather warning to all ports for 48 hours time. We had to make a decision as to where to head to in the next 24 hours that would be able to see us through some strong winds. A bit more investigation in internet cafes revealed the cause of the problem to be Hurricane Gordon lurking out in mid-Atlantic, with an indeterminate path headed somewhere on the Galician or Portuguese coast. We decided to stay put in Bayona, as there was an anchorage, marina, and buoys to choose from, and the reefs around the entrance make the bay very protected from swell, with high hills to protect us from south and west.
Several large container ships came in and anchored behind the Iles Cies, so we knew we were in for a biggy.
We waited slightly anxiously for more news, and the next 2 days were hot and sunny, force 3-4 perfect sailing weather. Gordon did a bit of damage to one of the Azores islands, before losing it’s hurricane status in the cold water of the Galician waters. It finally hit at 5am in the morning, with gusts of 65 knots (mph) in Bayona. The centre of the storm passed about 60 miles north of us with gusts of 80 knots (mph). Some damage was done to buildings, but it was not a bad as had been expected.
We sat out the storm in the marina, watching the piles shaking back and forth and wondering what would happen if the forecasted Storm Force 11 reached us, as it didn’t seem that the pontoons would take too much more battering.
With hindsight (what a wonderful thing), we should have stayed at anchor, where we would not have been snatching at our ropes and cleats. Our biggest worry would have been the boats without engines, as if they dragged their anchors they would not have been able to do anything about it, and there was not really enough room for all of us out in the anchorage to put out the necessary lengths of chain.

Apparently ex-hurricanes are full of energy that needs to be dissipated in wind, rain and thunderstorms. This is exactly what Gordon did over the next 3 days.
We pottered in internet cafes, and bars and shops. When it rained the locals would shake their heads and say that they couldn’t believe what bad weather they were having.
In between rain showers we walked around the coast and went ‘Up the Virgin’.

Can you spot me in the little boat she is holding?

This statue is perched on the headland, and you can climb up inside the virgin , to emerge through a tiny hole to stand in the boat that she holds in her right hand. It was particularly windy, so hanging on with both hands was in order.

We haven’t mentioned anything about the forest fires in the Rias. Before we arrived in Spain, there had been no rain for 3 months (!). This combined with the bizarre behaviour of some out-of-work firemen and other arsonists (one of them 91 years old) led to huge forest fires throughout the rias. They lost about 7% of their forested area, and there were many fatalities. In August, it was common to see seaplanes sweeping down into the rias to collect water to drop in the hills, and every few days we would see a new plume of smoke rising in the distance.
A German chemical factory burned down at the top of one of the rivers, leeching toluene and other nasties into the water. It was rapidly dealt with by carbon filters, and followed by an emergency plan to tunnel the course of the river around the polluted section.

For Galicia to be hit by a hurricane after all this bad luck, seems to be really unfair, but at least the damage was slight compared to what could have been. Hurricane Helene lurked in the Atlantic for a while, threatening a similar course, but thankfully lost its power and buggered off to Ireland.
The strong winds swept the ash off the hills and the rain brought it all down, so for a few days we had black decks and black feet.

At last, after 10 days we left Bayona, and had a lovely sail down the coast, accompanied by dolphins across the border into Portugal. We were very pleased to hoist our Portuguese courtesy flag, as we were excited to be entering a new country and heading south towards better weather. We really enjoyed the Rias, and would urge anyone to head their, as it is wonderful sailing playground, with a beach for everyone, and lots of opportunities for cycling and walking. For the Galicians, they say that 2006 has been a year to forget!

Not So Technical.Getting new batteries in La Coruna.
So I’m sitting in a beautiful bay surrounded by spectacular rocky coast enclosing a golden sand beached bay and a small town offering a couple of bars and restaurants in the Rias of Galicia. It’s 8:30 in the evening and about 25 degrees and sunny. It’s what we came here for and hope to see a lot more of, but don’t get the impression that it’s all swilling sun downers and sunbathing. There is always maintenance to do.

Three days ago, fortunately in La Coruna, the largest city in the area, we returned to the boat to the gas alarm screaming. First checks confirmed the gas shut off at bottle and no smell. Reset the gas alarm to find “No 2” sensor, the deepest in the bilge will not reset. No obvious cause. Floor uplifted and sensor inspected for damage , none found and it restarted only to fail again 1 hour later. Next afternoon after removing the loo/shower floors for varnishing, (a result of a complaint re the condition of the on shore showers in the marina) and exposing areas of the shower tray clearly not ventilated or drying, we both smelt a progressively worse smell like dirty drains and sulphur. Cleaning the area didn’t seem to improve the situation and it continued to get worse.

More sniffing and opening of lockers finally revealed the source of the smell. The engine starter batteries had a dead cell and were overheating on the shore charger, creating Explosive!!! gases. Ventilation and disconnection sorted out the smell and gas but it still left us with no starter batteries, so to the guts of the story.

What we need is 2 x 105 to 110 amp Hour Engine cranking batteries. I want sealed, i.e. ideally Glass filled high performance batteries or at least Gel.

What is involved .
(1) Get the words you will need, Baterias, etc.
(2) Find out a potential supplier
(3) Get to the supplier and explain the situation.

We did all of the above in about ½ a day and a visit into the warehouse revealed 2 types of battery available. Traditional car batteries, 2 of, ( possibly Recreational ) and a sealed battery, 1 of, similar to the average boat battery from the average UK chandler.

The size available was max 75 amp. 2 Baterias of the sealed variety were ordered for delivery to the marina that evening. The price was equivalent to the most hi-tec available in the UK. They did arrive and on time so no complaints but on removing the shrink wrapping they exposed themselves as normal push on cap lead acid, not what we had ordered.

Day 2. Discussion with shop to explain situation. To their credit they worked hard to try to rectify the situation but to no avail. We went to another car / truck battery supplier whilst this was proceeding and explained what we wanted. In this part of Spain, sealed means there is a cap on it!. Gel was a concept that the specialist had heard of but none of the 3 suppliers he called could supply anything over 75 amps and , you guessed it I didn’t bother trying to explain AGM ( absorbed Glass Matt) and Red flash micro technology.

The result: 2 days delay in leaving port. 2 admittedly heavy duty cranking batteries and 430 euros (!!) less in the wallet. But we are sailing again!

What would have been the result in a smaller port?

North Spain, August 2006

The seas flattened out around the NW point of Spain, and hopefully we are rid of the steep lumpy seas of Biscay and into kinder, more regular waves from the Atlantic.  We tightened the rig up a few notches – quite normal to have to do this after 1000 miles of having a new rig – and the boat is so much better behaved as a result, coping with head winds and waves much better than before.
We were rewarded by being joined by about 50 dolphins all around the boat, some deciding to ride the bow wave of the yacht, and happily chirping away at us in dolphinese while we held on tightly at the bow to watch them.

La Coruna offers lots of entertainment for a few days, to replace our batteries (literally), and mend a few bits of boat. The marina is lovely, and in a great position, but the showers are truly appalling, so it has become a motivating factor to sort out our on-board showering facilities. Stuart has set to with the epoxy to sort the woodwork, and Steph has varnished/oiled the wooden shower trays, so it will all be ready to go for when we have left La Coruna. No doubt the next shower facilities will be gleaming marble and gold plated taps!

On our day off, we visited Santiago de Compostela, about 45 minutes away by train.
It was fantastic to see the city that I’d read about and to see the Parador. It’s a great city to wander around the old streets, and to take in the history of the popular pilgrimage that finishes here with a reward of only spending half your time in purgatory. If you complete the pilgrimage in a holy year, 2004, 2010 then you get let off of purgatory entirely.
For more background to this pilgrimage read Spanish Steps by Tim Moore, a very entertaining read about his travels with a donkey, including lots of really bad donkey jokes.

I think we need a bit more practice with panoramic shots:

It is a real challenge everyday to try and communicate to get what you want, and to find parts or equipment when there is a language barrier – for many of the locals, Spanish is their second language after Gallego, and possibly French, so it no wonder that they may not speak English. They are just as likely to receive customers from Scandinavia, Netherlands, France, Italy. Even the Spanish dictionary is not much help, as the words often do not remotely resemble the Gallego equivalent.

So far we have sampled lots of yummy cuisine – amongst our favorites are chipirones (baby squid in it’s ink) and Pimientos de Padron (tiny green peppers fried in salt and olive oil, mostly benign but with the occasional hot one to surprise you). Luckily we were warned about the ‘percebes’ – or goose barnacles. They are a local specialty collected from the waters edge at great risk from big waves and are accordingly very expensive. Just because they are a speciality does not mean that we are going to try them though, maybe you can see from the picture why we’ve not bothered to try them.

We discovered more local customs, including a bar serving only sweet red wine ( a bit like sherry) in small pouring bottles served with peanuts fresh in their shells. The shells are rapidly disposed of, creating an entire layer of peanut shells on the floor of the bar. The guy we are sharing a drink with is Bert, a grandfather from Netherlands, who is single handed in a 40 footer. He has crossed the Atlantic alone, more times than we’ve crossed the channel – a real inspiration, and a beautiful boat.

After the tourist bars close, we discovered that the locals head up to the old town for more drinking at the weekend – but seldom in bars. They take a picnic and their supply of alcohol and sit around in groups in a park just beneath a row of attractive looking bars that are almost empty.

During our walk we discovered why there are so many wrecks marked on the chart as we viewed the lower 30 feet of the lighthouse.

Moving Weather, our weather forecasting program that we subscribe to, predicts that the low cloud will clear on Wednesday, so hopefully if our new starting batteries are installed, we will be off shortly after that to explore the Rias Bajas for a couple of weeks.

Gijon, North Spain, August 2006

After a couple of days of battering by wind and waves day and night from La Rochelle we arrived in Gijon in North Spain – pronounced something like hee-hon – try saying it without sounding like a donkey! We were approached and boarded by Spanish customs officials who spoke no English at all. We filled in their form as requested and they went away quite happy. They assured us that this was entirely routine, but we never came across any other boats that had been welcomed this way!

On arrival, we jumped ship and went to a bar to try and regain our senses and land legs. All around people were buying a bottle of cider with one glass between them. It would be poured from a great height, often without looking at the glass. This resulted in much spillage. The glass was then passed to someone, who would gulp it down except for the dregs, which would be swilled around the glass and chucked on the ground before passing the glass back to the pourer.  This strange behaviour was all around, and we later discovered that it was fiesta time here, and is a local custom. Pouring the cider from a height makes it fizz momentarily and taste acceptable. It’s traditional to share one glass so the dregs are swilled around to clean the glass before it is passed on to the next drinker.

The following two days we made the most of arriving during the fiesta, and attended the firework display on a Monday at midnight on the beach. It was an awesome display of 45 minutes, some of the best fireworks we’ve ever seen. There was an intermission of 10 minutes during the show, which turned out to be a problem with one set of fireworks. We were treated to the missing ones at 2pm the next day – which didn’t quite have the same effect.
There was music for free in the square and down by the port, a huge stage set up with a Riverdance show and various other free gigs. These went on until well into the small hours. We retired to bed about 3am, but the town was still heaving with people of all ages, mostly drinking cider and spilling it in the streets. We didn’t witness a single episode of drunken misbehaviour and the atmosphere was very convivial.

On the way to Gijon, Stuart caught an enormous tuna (actually a bonito) which he butchered on the foredeck with lots of mess and scales running down the sides of the deck. We let the boat drift while he got it aboard and did his dastardly deeds with it, and it was two hours before we were able to set sail again, with it safely in manageable size pieces ready for the fridge.

Stuart made lots of friends in Gijon by distributing huge tuna steaks to the other cruisers there. It was probably around 20-25 kilos. In France bonito was selling in the markets for around 28 Euros/kilo, so it was an impressive catch.  We ate tuna for days and days after this, our favourite solutions to tuna overload being green thai curry, and portugese fish stew (Caldeira).

The cost of living is much lower than in France here- we were starting to wonder if our budget was up to the task when we shopped in the supermarkets. The meat is much better quality here and about ¼ of the price. The wine is abundant, cheap and excellent quality. What more could you want in life??

Ribadeo
Onto Ribadeo next, about 75 miles along the coast. Another boisterous sail with head winds, or now winds and steep short seas, just like the English channel.
The town was OK but a bit run-down, with an annoying swell in the marina (run by the yacht club). Whatever we did with fenders and lines we snatched and jolted around and rubbed fenders with our neighbours. Helen and Matthew joined us for a night on their way home from Pontevendra to the airport. Matthew (8) ran around the boat like a mad thing, pressing every button and pulling every rope he could find – a great adventure playground – while we held our breath and hoped that nothing vital was being activated (like the EPIRB!)
We found a fantastic typically Spanish restaurant with the usual bright lights and immaculately clean kitchen. Helen brought us news that the rain that we found annoying and persistent was very welcome in the region, as they had not had any for 3 months before we arrived. This, combined with some bizarre arson attacks had resulted in terrible forest fires all over Galicia, with loss of life and homes on a scale so huge, that satellite pictures show the smoke streaming out into the Atlantic.

After seeing Helen off to the airport the next day there was an absolute downpour. The steep alleys and streets were streaming with water, the drain covers disgorging their rotting contents. We were quite safe aboard our ark, but the wiff was becoming quite nasty, and we discovered that what had appeared to be just a pile (wide metal vertical pole)  in the marina turned out to be the overflow pipe. We named it ‘Pissypoo’ fountain when we saw what was surrounding our ark!

Viveiro
Moving swiftly on we sailed 35miles to Viveiro, a pleasant old town with a new marina and a friendly harbourmaster. We spent an hour in his office to do our paperwork (one form) and receive Spanish lessons and a comprehensive knowledge of nearby anchoring possibilities.  Met lots of cruisers here, including Dutch and Danish cruisers and a couple heading back home after their yearly cruise of the region. Andy and Carolyn on Trio gave us lots of information about the cuisine and the areas not to be missed and we seriously took advantage of their extensive drinks locker during one pleasant afternoon aboard.
On Monday and Tuesday evenings there was free live music in the town square, for which all the locals turned out. Everyone brings their kids out until late in the evening, and no-one would think about eating before 10pm. We were clearly born to live in Spain, as our bodyclocks have been synchronized to Spanish time for as long as we remember – even as a child, it never felt right to eat at 1pm and 7pm. We’d frequently find ourselves the last customers in a restaurant, or having to negotiate a table before the kitchens closed in the UK and in France.
Peter joined us on Tuesday for a few days. Unfortunately we thought that it would be a  simple connection to Asturias airport where there is a nearby train station. Of course the last train of the day departed 10 minutes before he landed, so the only option was an expensive taxi ride.
We motored around the corner to El Barquero. Here we found a picturesque beach with virtually no-one around, under the ruins of probably an old fish factory. The sand was so white and the water so clear, we had an easy view of shoals of tiny sardines chasing around making the water choppy with their activities and heaps of other fish that avoided Stuart and Peters’ attempts to land them. Steph was quite content with a rest from fish for a while as the tuna had only just been consumed, and we were quite keen for a change of diet.

 After a morning swim to the beach, we sailed off to La Cedeira. Again, no winds/head winds and a lumpy sea and we were pleased to arrive in this fishing village. We anchored behind the breakwater near ‘Offski’ a Glaswegian boat off to the Med. The town was a disappointment in every way. We found it hard to find a decent restaurant, the beach was quite dirty, the weather terrible and Peter could find no way out of the place without another expensive taxi ride (and it was touch-and-go as to whether anyone would take him).
After seeing Peter off in his taxi, La Cedeira’s parting shot was an anchor fouled by the most humungous fishermans anchor/mooring we have ever seen, complete with 2 other anchors that had met the same fate as ours. Now we understood why we had held our position so well in the 25 knot winds that we had in the rain-storms!
Our powerful windlass brought the mass of steel to a couple of feet below the surface of the water, so we could see what was what. You would have to be mad to get in the water to sort it out, as it was all hanging in a tangle of fishing net off the flukes of our anchor, ready to take you down with it, should it decide to drop off at any moment.
Luckily we managed to manoeuver the tripping line/anchor chain up and down to free ourselves of this mess and got ourselves free of La Cedeira in favour of La Coruna.