On November 1, 1755, a massive earthquake struck Portugal. In Lisbon alone an estimated 60,000 people perished. Lagos, the then capital of the Arlgarve was also severely impacted, not only with the loss of human life but also the loss of its status as capital city of the Arlgarve an honor held since 1576, which moved in 1756 to Faro. This may not have been an entirely bad thing (obviously not for the residents at the time, I hasten to add), but the result has been that Lagos was not over developed in the 20th century. Some remnants of pre-1755 city walls remain together with a few buildings and artefacts, but most of the old town is 18th century. There are no high rises (although much, mostly residential development is going on) and it retains an ‘end of the line’ charm. The railway network stops here, the motorway network stops here, so unless you are a surfing buff headed to the west coast in your VW campervan with a fully laden roof rack (of which there are many), the people here are not passing through, they are here because it is the desired end point. About 22,000 people (including us) live here.

Lagos’ position at the bottom left hand corner (South West, to those with a geographical bent) of The Iberian Peninsular and indeed Europe, coupled with a large natural harbour at the mouth of the Bensafrim river meant that the Romans, Moors, Spanish and others considered it of strategic importance and all fought over it and consequentially contributed to a colourful history. Henry the Navigator lived here and during his time, the first European forays into North Africa were launched from Lagos, the Lagos adventurers were the first of many in the ‘Age of Discovery’, which culminated in the Spanish doing the first Atlantic crossing of the modern age, finding the western version of the Indies (Amerigo Vespucci came a few years later) and the Portuguese colonisation of chunks of Africa and Kerala/Goa in India. Vasco da Gama (see previous blog) was a also participant in the age of discovery. Lagos became a European trading centre for all things African; from ivory to slaves; thankfully no more, but it was the wealth of these endeavours that resulted in Lagos becoming the capital of the Arlgarve until it all came tumbling down on Nov 1, 1755.

Today, Lagos is a very laid back, un-pretentious town with a slight hippy feel to it. It has spectacular beaches. Meia Praia is 6km of golden sand with the cooling Atlantic, ideal for walking the dog and dropping into one of the nicely scattered independantly run beach bars for a cold beer (there are no restaurant chains here). It has a town full of history and character with a great variety of restaurants and bars. There are some spectacular cliffs and coves.

It also has a modern marina, which is a ‘sailing’ marina full of people who are using wind power to take them on their own personal vogages of discovery and adventure. If you want to meet people who are doing a circumnavigation, or just a transatlantic crossing, in a racing regatta or even dropping in on their way fron Northern Europe to an extended sailing cruise in the Med, then they are all here and the conversations about where people have been and how to/not to do it abound. The flags on the boats are Swedish, Canadian, Australian, British and many, many more … Lagos has great winds for sailing and 3,100 hours of sunshine per year (factor 30+ required) but due to the Atlantic waters, it never gets too hot and by the way, the seafood is excellent. The sky is mostly a deep shade of blue and there are a number of great courses for the bogey golfer.

From Lagos marina, we will launch our own voyage of discovery and adventure … our first planned trip is east into the Med in July.

May 23, 2022 was a Monday and in Kent, it was raining. After all the news about queues and delays, we were expecting to be in Dover for a while. None of it; no queues and no delays, we turned up, hopped on the train and 30 mins later were driving on the right hand side of the road toward Soisson, just to the north of Reims (centre of Champagne). We saw not a single vine, but found our AirBnB (very nice for €40) after our first contre-temps with Google Maps. Our friends Steven and Helen were heading south to Sicily at the same time, so we had arranged to meet each evening on our way to our first ‘waypoint’; Valbonne, near Nice, where my brother, sister in-law and family live.

We had decided to use RN (non motorways) as much as possible. This strategy, while interesting for a while, is very slow and with 4,000km (2,500 miles) to Portugal, we bit the bullet, paid the tolls and ate the miles. As we moved into Burgundy (Bourgogne), vines were in abundance in the hills. Bourgogne is famous for Chardonnay, and Aligote and Pinot Noir for red wine drinkers.

This is a stunningly beautiful part of France with rolling hills, lovely villages, ancient chateaux and some of the best food in the world. We had booked the 13th century Chateau d’Ige for dinner B&B. Dinner was exceptional. Chateau is beautiful and weather was perfect …

On March 1, 1815, Napoleon decided that exile in Elba was not for him, so he got on a boat, arrived in Golf-Juan (Cannes) and marched an ever increasing group of loyal followers up through the foothills of the Alps to Grenoble (on his way to Paris) by way of what is now known as the Route de Napoleon, which we followed in the opposite direction to Nice. By June, 18 of 1815, Napoleon had bumped into Wellington and the Prussians at Waterloo. Not a good meeting for Napoleon who ended up in St Helena, where he ended his days. Anyway, the road was beautiful, windy and scattered with with French Imperial Eagles. We arrived Valbonne early evening for a 3 day stay with sister-in-law; Bev and nieces Sienna and Constantine (Norwegian princesses, in case you were not aware). Mike, my brother was delivering a semi-functioning (even after $7M refit) boat from Amsterdam to Nice, so was not there.

We were soon on our way again towards Spain, which has so much more to offer than beaches and puffy north european flesh turning scarlet on over-crowded beaches. There are more olive trees in Spain than you can imagine and miles of empty space and some beautiful hilltop retreats where you can retreat from the plains in Spain where the rain doesnt actually fall (mainly).

Segura de la Sierra is spectacular. It has a bull ring at the top of a mountain which is no longer in use (last fight in 2010, but reminders of rituals past are in abundance; El Cordobes, El Doctor, El Capea and many more…

After 3750km and 10 days on the road, we arrived in Lagos, Portugal (with a lovely stop in Calahonda on the way, hosted by Bernhard who re-christened Toby as Turbo). The weather is is sunny, the temp here is mid 20s (centigrade). Now time to get the boat ready; we have house guests this week and boat guests in July.

No peace for the wicked.

April 6 2022 was my 12th anniversary at Dell and April 8th was my last day at Dell and I have to say, it as the best 12 years of my career. So many friends and great times. The last two years were difficult with no travel and no seeing people, but we still managed to make it fun with online quizzes, online cooking, wine tasting and more. Amazing how creative people can get. I shall miss all of that very much and miss all the people.

Deciding to retire raises so many questions and philosophical thoughts … ‘Do it while you can, don’t wait until you cant’; ‘you cant take it with you’, ‘what is it all for?’, so having wrestled with that, we are cutting career ties and setting the sails to see where the wind takes us. We intend to use the boat that we keep pouring money into that sits in harbour during all the zoom calls; use the golf club and become an active member not just an infrequent user of the golf course; do a bit of travel, spend time with friends and keep active.

I will also get back to the blog and scribble some words … more to come as the brain becomes de-compressed from the last 12 years!!

https://photos.app.goo.gl/xZDXVh22VXNL5Dce9

We are back home now, having travelled overland from Lagos by train, overnight sleeper, cars and ferry, all necessary as Toby is not able to fly into the UK. Its been an awesome 4 months, we sailed over 1500 miles in three countries at a leisurely pace, visited places we had never heard of and loved and some we had, experienced different people, languages and fiestas and were joined on the way by some great friends and family from Australia, USA, Germany, UK and Padbury. Thank you all for joining us, writing your blogs and helping to make the last four months truly memorable!

The past four months has been very different in many ways … It took a good month before we really started to disengage from the hum-drum of day to day 21st century living and we did get to see, feel and touch that world eventually, but there is so much more … whales, oceans, more cultures … we met people that were on their way to or from The Americas, Polynesia, South America and beyond; some in bigger boats and some in smaller boats than Sea Star. Its just a question of mindset and which direction you sail. The wind that took Columbus and Vasco still blows in the same way and takes those with the will to the same destinations today. Sailing from France to Spain is the same as sailing from Portugal to The Galapagos; it is just a question of getting your head in the right place and how much time it takes (plus a few more gadgets),

There were a few things that were different about our ives over the past 4 months …

Last but not least … Sea Star has performed beautifully; a few niggles with temperamental water pumps and speed and distance logs, toilet systems that you need to get used to, but a boat that kept everybody safe and delivered moments of adventure, fun, awe, escape and peace.

Although we have been at sea and in somewhat remote places, the modern world allows you to stay connected. Ageing parents are still within reach, friends and family that could not join us are still in contact and a GPS system that lets us know where we are to the nearest foot. The world’s oceans cover 71% or the surface of the earth and can be peaceful and beautiful or wild and dangerous; always watch the weather!!

So its back to work, re-energised and raring to go. It may sound strange, and we have had a really great time, but not ready to stop and make it a lifestyle just yet.

As Ratty from Kenneth Graham’s Wind in the Willows, once said to his friend Mole, “Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing – absolutely nothing – half so much worth doing as simply messing around in boats”. And Ratty is definitely onto something: to be on the water in any kind of craft can be restful an extremely therapeutic – except possibly when you are sailing with James!

We finally met up in Lagos marina on Friday lunchtime after an interesting and unscheduled tour of Lagos old town, and several phone calls to Nicky. The street names kept showing on Google Maps that we were in Brazil! But eventually we arrived, and were warmly welcomed on board to find that Nick and James had very kindly given us their own cabin for the duration of our stay. The boat was very impressive, and we were surprised to find how spacious and comfortable it was – we even had our own ensuite! Having lived in Gibraltar and Spain for many years, even the ritual of la toilette didn’t phaze us one bit!

As we always do when meeting up with Nick and James, we immediately cracked open the beers and some very acceptable vinho verde, and proceeded to have a long catch-up about their amazing trip. Sometime around 7pm, (or it may have been 8) we thought we should probably go out and partake of some solids, so we disembarked and set out for a highly recommended local fish restaurant located in a big warehouse-type place. Low on ambiance but packed to the rafters and with great (and very reasonably priced) food, the queue stretched around the block, and we were lucky to get a table. Unfortunately, as they were so busy, service was understandably slow, leaving us with no choice but to have even more wine, so we cannot even tell you what we ate, or indeed what time or even how we got back to the boat! Safe to say, though, it was all delicious, and a good evening was had by all.

The next morning, we staggered out onto the deck to find James and Nicky in much the same state as ourselves, although James was slightly less hungover as he had prepared and excellent breakfast for all of us.

The plan for that day was to leave the safety of the marina and to do some proper sailing up to Cabo San Vincente, on the most south-westerly corner of Portugal, and to moor up for the night at sea in a secluded, scenic bay. Never having been on a boat before, (apart from a few cross-channel ferries, a fully-crewed Turkish gulet and catamaran in the BVI) we clearly required a bit of training. Well OK, a lot.

Donna sensibly burrowed into the deepest recess of the seats on deck, clutching Tobydog by his carrying handle (rather like an expensive handbag). However, Howard was more gung-ho, and was given the responsibility of steering Seastar while James gave well-meaning instruction. This partnership was met with mixed success: imagine someone receiving instructions on how to land a plane:

1. ‘Slow engine speed’ (how?)
2. ‘Flaps down’ (er wait a minute!)
3. ‘Wings level’ (oh fuck!)

…and straight to 

5. ‘why the f*&k didn’t you put the wheels down?’ – (because no-one told me about 4!!!)

In a sailing context – and indeed any potentially tricky manoeuvre in any vehicle – an novice really needs step 4 as well! James is a talented, instinctive sailor, and has a real gift. Turns out we do not!

After quite a bit of sailing west, attempting to tack with the wind, and ‘turn’, ‘come about’ or ‘belay’ or whatevs, pulling on all the wrong lines, sheets and ropes (oh no the only rope is on the dinner-bell) and turning a wheel that certainly does not respond like a car, James decide that it was all just too embarrassing to bear, and what would all the other captains think of him?, so we were humiliatingly stood down (fired ☹), and James and first mate Nicky took control and sailed us into a sheltered bay for the night.

After anchoring and tying-up – a surprisingly complex procedure – the boys gathered-up a cross-legged Toby and set off for the beach and a walk (beers in a bar) while Nick and Donna got started on the paella (and the wine). Donna was on chopping duty and had to concentrate hard not to chop her own fingers off as the boat gently rolled with the tide. She has obviously got better sealegs than she thought because she managed not to barf and only had to go up on deck for fresh air once or twice! The paella was simmering nicely, and it was dark o’clock before Toby and the boys came back. We heard an almighty splash and a faint cry of “man overboard”, which we all knew without looking would be Howard! Impressively, although submerged, he managed to throw his man-bag, complete with wallet and two mobile phones inside – up out of the sea and onto the deck without the water having tine to penetrate it. Heaving him back onboard took a bit longer…. H could not completely swear beyond reasonable doubt that James hadn’t either pushed him in or at the least deliberately crashed the dinghy onto the back of the boar, sending him flying.

After Howard had dried off, we ate our delicious paella, and then played Canasta until the early hours, with only a bit of squabbling from one of the losing side (James).

The next morning saw the sun shining most hotly (sic). We girls positioned ourselves for some R&R and some sunbathing, being most careful to avoid sitting on the various cleats, sheets, bobbins, zonkwhistlepipes and generally any uncomfortable objects guaranteed to cause injury. We had a pleasant and reasonably uneventful sail back to the marina, apart from when we were nearly back in harbor and had to cross a flagged-off, competition area of racing boats, when Howard’s steering ability was loudly challenged by James, with vocabulary vocally relating to reproduction and defecation. Chugging into the harbour we had an unwanted and mildly worrying moment or three, when another yacht apparently had fan-belt trouble and was left drifting around uncontrollably, and almost ran into our rear end, it was a near miss, a breach of maritime etiquette, and we were most relieved ie to finally moor up safely. James may or may not have gone and ‘had a word’ with their crew.

That evening we went for a wander with Toby into the old streets of Lagos, and despite it being a bit commercial, touristy, and very crowded we found a great little restaurant, and feasted on calamari, seabass, steaks and pork – as well as copious amounts of the local vinho!

Monday, sadly, was our last full day in Lagos, but we had really saved the best ‘til last: on one of his previous walks with El Tobos, James had come across a restaurant with the most amazing food and spectacular view. Set right on the edge of a cliff above Aljezur, restaurant O Paulo, is right next to the ruins of Da Fortaleza da Arrifana, and it looks down upon the treacherous seas pounding onto the rocks by Cabo San Vincente, and a long sandy beach where the surfers congregate. 

We feasted upon scallops au gratin, the freshest tuna carpaccio, and prawns, followed by a poor, executed-to-order lobster, to share, a massive turbot, a seabass and a classic Portuguese Cataplana. We ate until we could eat no more and then returned to the boat in a taxi for more wind and cards.

This was a seriously, high-quality long-weekend, with all of the perfect ingredients: boats, adventure, history, culinary delights, pissartistry, Canasta, comedy, and camaraderie.

A wonderful sail – literally to the ends of the earth, which is what Vasco da Gama called Cabo San Vicente, (and we were nowhere near Nigeria at any time)

As for us, we went from “wow! We need to buy a boat” to “well maybe not a sail boat, but motor boat!” to “ Well we could rent a motor boat” to “We ain’t never owning or renting a boat!!”

So we just realized that we are not natural sailors, that it is quite hard work sailing, and very expensive to maintain a boat, and that (shame) we are too lazy!

Having said that – we are really looking forward to next year when Seastar and Los Holes will sail along down to our neck of the woods via Sevilla, Cadiz, Tarifa and La Cala de Mijas, and we have also reserved a few days onboard with them when they make it to Corsica and Sicily in future.

We love you guys, and that was a really special few days. Thank you so much for you generosity, love, and enduring friendship.

According to all the books, all the websites and all the anecdotal evidence, there is a north-west trade wind that blows a gentle 15-20 knots all the way down the Portuguese coast. Always. We had watched the wind on various sailing weather apps for some days and indeed, these apps also evidenced that a north west trade should push us gently down the coast from Porto to Lisbon and beyond. Well all I can say is don’t believe all the experts; this is fake news and there is no trade deal with Portugal (except for port). Sanctions were in force on Aug 14 and trade was suspended as we set out from beautiful Porto for the 170 odd mile hop down to Lisbon. We set off at lunch time after refuelling with the motor on, expecting the trades to pick us up as we motored 20-25 miles off shore. Wind, what wind? Becalmed. Nothing for it, but keeping the engine on and settle down to watch the beautiful sunset and the stars come out. The stars at sea are actually amazing. There is no light pollution from street lights, cars or anything else, so you get a real unhindered view and with the right app on my phone I was able to profess some knowledge of the constellations. Just by pointing the iphone at the sky, it would come up with constellations, and stars I had never heard of, together with navigation information that is only surpassed by my faithful GPS. As luck would have it, we set off in the middle of the Perseid meteor shower, which offered additional heavenly activity, but seemed not to confuse my app (clever). It made for a spectacular evening, albeit rather noisier than expected with the engine running all night. As was becoming normal, dolphins turned up to offer some company for the lonely hours. Sailing through the night is pretty boring, but somebody has to be on duty at all times, watching for other boats and to ensure we avoid collisions. Amazing how in such a large expanse of water, boats seem to attract each other and close encounters are all too frequent and creep up on you with alarming speed. The dawn brought a sea mist and an oily looking sea with no wind. A gentle breeze did finally appear as we approached our destination of Cascais at the mouth of the Tagus river on which the capital city of Portugal sits, and we ended up with 17-18 knots as we entered the marina just to make the mooring a little more awkward.

Lisbon is another gem of a city. We are pretty close to Africa now and the influence of The Moors who invaded and built cities and castles all around. Sintra is an incredible castle built by The Moors on the highest, steepest mountain that is today populated by the contents of bus fulls of tourists, which came as quite a shock as we realised that we had been remote and out of reach of the tourist hotspots for many weeks and suddenly there were crowds and rules and prices to match! Sintra (which now also has an 18th century palace as well) and the castle in Lisbon were liberated from The Moors in 1147 by Don Alfonso Henriques aided by the second crusaders (a band of merry men from Dartmouth, England)., who laid siege to the place for 6 months and once the city was liberated, decided to abandon their crusade and stay.

Lisbon retains a strong moorish feel in some quarters but much of Lisbon was destroyed by an earthquake in 1755 and rebuilt with majestic squares and wide streets on a grid. The moorish quarter is now full of little eateries and hippy bars with Janis Joplin or Hendrix wafting out onto the narrow streets. The wide streets and boulevards how host shops and and banks and traffic. Jennifer left us after we had toured Lisbon and we were joined by Chris and Michelle from Padbury for a Genakker assisted meander down the coast to

Arrabida, a beautiful sandy bay with a couple of restaurants (the absolute best bruschetta) and a mystical fog that enveloped the boat over night and on to Troia with a perfect anchorage. We sailed down towards Sines in a strange sea mist, which prevailed in a 7-10 knot breeze. Not really a trade wind, but wind from the right direction, for sure. Out of the mist came two blasts on a ships horn; not once, not twice but every 3-4 minutes. We replied with two blasts from our own horn … Turns out that two blasts on a ships horn means ‘I do not know your intentions’ and a reply of two blasts means ‘I am passing you to starboard’, which is what we were doing. Well that was lucky!

Sines is a lovely little town; we were back in off the beaten track Portugal with very few tourists and a castle overlooking the bay, in which Vasco da Gama was born. Vasco was the first European to actually reach India by sea (as opposed to Columbus who thought he had, but actually found America – a 14,500KM error) and became the first Viceroy of India. Goa remains strangely European with christian churches and pork on the menu, all because of Vasco, who was born in Sines, died in Cochin and is buried in Lisbon. Another intrepid adventurer from Portugal, who sailed with no GPS and no idea of where they were going. It makes our little adventure feel very tame. These little towns have great food, fresh and cheap. Adega de Sines is so full of character, run by a family in their bedroom slippers with grandpa on the grill (an open fire in the front room and grandma on the till. No menu, but a visit to the kitchen reveals  choice of beef stew, portuguese beans or sardines or chicken from the grill. Grandpa clearly knows how to BBQ; it was delicious and prompted a gushing review on tripadvisor. Just across the street was some of the best steak we have had for some time; all in the shadow of a 15th century castle with canons and ramparts overlooking the bay below with the beach and the boat moored up in a safe marina. Does life get much better?

Sadly Chris and Michelle left us here and we also departed for Arrifana, another idyllic bay on the Atlantic coast which can only be criticised for the Atlantic swell which rolled in and from which we sheltered (to the most part) behind a cliff on which sits O Paulo a fabulous restaurant that we were to visit later. The next day we set sail with a reasonable breeze for Cape St Vincent, which would complete our journey south from Cape Finistere. Cape St Vincent is of course where Horatio Nelson spent valentines day in 1797 battling the Spanish fleet with some distinction (no dinner for 2 with Lady Hamilton) and it was his endeavours here that started got him noticed by the admiralty and set him on course for his fateful kiss with Hardy at Trafalgar. We anchored in Sagres, which bears the same name as al l the beer round here, opened a bottle and watched another lovely sunset. Next day was a 25 mile hp to Lagos, past Praia de Luz for our final destination. Lagos is back on the tourist map and rightfully so. The weather has suddenly changed; now 30oC++ the beaches are lovely, the surf is available round the corner at Sagres, but the waters are calm here. The  town has an old world charm, albeit swarming with tourist shops, expensive restaurants and buskers. It is however a great place to unwind after the trip and to wait for our final guests

Donna and Howard popped along the coast from their home in Gibraltar / Mijas to join us for a weekend. Never having been on a boat before, much training was required .. this is a sheet, not a rope, this is a winch, not a drinks holder and so on … so focus was therefore on finding an anchorage for dinner, and finding fine restaurants for lunch, both of which we managed with some considerable success. A great finale to a wonderful 4 months. Now time to lift Sea Star out of the water and plan the trip home and to reflect on what has been an amazing 4 months.

Guest Blog; Chris and Michelle Becque

We were really looking forward to joining James and Nicky for part of Seastar’s journey South, but we didn’t anticipate just how special it would be.

Prior to travelling we had felt underprepared, so had dutifully invested in a couple of books on Lisbon and the coast, the aim being to get up to speed in quiet moments. However, one of us, who shall not be named, managed to leave both books in the Uber so we were found wanting pretty quickly. 

Not to worry, being experienced sailors and hosts, Mr & Mrs Hole had itinerary options already prepped and so off we went to Sintra – the old town on the hill with fantastic views down on Lisbon and the coast. There’s a Disney like castle to see, beautiful gardens and a monastery. Unfortunately the Portuguese here (like some parts of Spain according to previous bloggers), don’t welcome dogs to their tourist sites and El Tobos was persona non grata.  

Our books would probably have told us that (!), but we would have wanted the little fellow with us anyway, and there were plenty of equally disappointed Portuguese dog owners.  Plus it gave us an opportunity to see James’ “quiet diplomacy” in action as he discussed various sensible, but apparently unacceptable, compromise options with overly pompous local officials. James for Brexit minister I say!  Nevertheless, by taking it in turns to look after Toby, we still had a lovely afternoon walk in the shadow of the monastery with absolutely stunning views, followed by afternoon Tapas of sardines and beer (of course). 

Once returned to the boat and freshened up, we were entertained by the gent on the expensive motor launch from the pontoon next to us, demonstrating how not to moor up. 

After trying a couple of times and failing, he seemed to decide that the problem was his speed and that somehow approaching faster would help. With his foot flat on the gas he reversed in, hit the pontoon and catapulted his wife from the top deck to the lower dining deck, with her fall broken (luckily?) by the railings. Having watched helplessly we rushed to ask after her and he said (with all the nonchalance of someone who’s wife had been lucky enough to be run over by an ambulance), “no problem we have a doctor on board”. They wrapped a scarf round her head helped her off and went merrily ashore to get her checked out properly.

With the goose pimples of helplessness receding, we also went ashore to explore the pretty streets of Cascais itself and enjoy some terrific Portuguese cuisine…and wine…and port. We learned that late at night after too many bottles of wine it probably isn’t the right time to consider training to be a Port connoisseur mainly because the next day you can’t remember which you preferred – hey ho.

Day 2, and after a lovely omelette breakfast courtesy of Nicky, we left the marina (uneventfully), but not before the “next door” party returned. Apparently everything was OK as his wife only had a couple of cracked ribs – that’s alright then.

James gave us our safety briefing, and I took away from it that if anything happens to James and Nicky we’re stuffed.  Next trick is to learn the ropes which means pull and pull whichever one Nicky and James point to. With the mainsail and Genoa raised we got our first taste of what Seastar can do in a very light wind. I like to call it bobbing. We bobbed around in the Tagus estuary while we tried to assess why two guests, who had never, ever, been seasick before, looked greener than the Atlantic. I think the final decision was that one was experiencing that woozy feeling by being below deck too much whereas the other must have had some rather dodgy port the night before.

Having eventually established that neither of us would actually be calling for Huey at the back of the boat, James fired up the engine and off we trundled, suddenly all feeling much better.

It wasn’t long then until the weather caught up with the forecast and we got our first real chance to be under sail on Seastar. The skipper unleashed the discreetly coloured Gennaker and we were properly sailing – Fantastic ! 

By mid afternoon we rounded the headland south of Lisbon and passed Sesimbra, and by early evening James expertly anchored up in a beautiful, shallow bay called Portinho da Arrabida.

Clearly the first task is to get El Tobos on to terra firma and so the tender was “offloaded” (there’s probably a technical term) and the boys dutifully went ashore armed with poo bags. Unfortunately not armed with a lead.  Scouring the tide line we failed to find any old rope so there was nothing left to do, but to ask in a small bar. Apparently they didn’t have any form of rope, but, by chance, did have several sorts of beer and were happy for Toby to run free and keep the other clients’ children occupied so long as we partook.

Later, back on the boat, our host proposed a barbecue with the fresh sardines prawns James had procured before we left Cascais. I was intrigued to find out how one sets a barby on a boat without disastrous consequences. Once everyone was freshened up, James fired up the generator and plugged in the George Foreman grill ! I’m sure George himself would have been proud and I have to say it worked really well. Another fine meal in beautiful surroundings.

Day 3 – We woke up to a sunny yet misty morning and had breakfast with these stunning vistas. 

Once more Nicky did a fine job on omelette duty after which we went ashore en masse (with lead) for a day on the beach (ignoring the “no dogs” sign).

Back on the boat and the forecast was for a windy night so the skipper proposed moving further round the coast to Troia for more sheltered mooring in the marina. We motored round and saw our first sight of dolphin/porpoises (what is the difference and how do you tell?) only to find that lots of others had had the same idea and the marina was full. The harbour master kindly directed us to a sheltered anchorage a little further inland. Paella for supper !

Poached eggs for breakfast, a walk around the beaches for Toby and we headed off for Sines the final destination for the guests. 

Avoiding the shallow shelf we made our way about 8-10 miles offshore in some weird meteorological conditions: sea fog, dappled sunshine and a good but somewhat inconsistent breeze.  

Here was great sea sailing: with sails set and the autopilot engaged, we were making 5-6 knots and had a relaxing time reading, eating, sun bathing with no-one, or any land, in sight for hours. Bliss!

Come mid-afternoon-ish, the fog was thickening in patches and we heard the trumpet of a very deep foghorn. With nothing in sight except a deepening fog bank the news from the radar was that there was a ship about 2 miles away, stationary, but kind of in front of us. Making about 4 knots we headed on to the regular sound of two sharp blasts. 1 mile to go and still no sign of it, we plough on with the foghorn getting louder and visibility getting worse.

James then came on deck with what I can only describe as a quite large Kazoo. He waited ‘til the fog horn sounded and then blew two sharp blasts in response, then put it away.

Finally as we entered the fog bank we could see the bloody ballast ship off our starboard side. We missed it easily by at least, well, 500 yards. Meanwhile the fog horn blasts seemed to get louder and much more angry sounding even (or especially) as we passed.  Ever resourceful James retrieved a book from the cabin and found the translation for repeated two blasts of fog horn. Apparently the 2 blasts means “I don’t know what your intentions are!”, subtitled, please inform me. Clearly after 30 mins of no response it probably means something slightly more direct. As it turns out James 2 blasts on the kazoo in response meant we will pass you on our starboard side, which coincidentally is what we did. However, as we passed the ship, it’s difficult to believe that even when right alongside the ship, that James’ kazoo would be heard 40m up on the bridge, let alone a mile away!

Hey ho !

Coming out of the fog bank the sky cleared sun was out and then they came – the dolphins/porpoises. They’re so fast and all around – a joy to watch. But difficult to photograph!

Once successfully moored up in Sines and freshened up with a gentle sun-downer….

…we entered the town late, but quickly found a restaurant that not only provided drink and food late in the day, but also supplied children to entertain El Tobos.

A good night’s sleep on board followed by more poached eggs and we headed off into town. Famous as the birth place of Vasco Da Gamma, it’s an up and coming town with a Fort and a mix of pretty old town with an old (but still very active) fishing port and a huge modern freight shipping port. The museum has some interesting artefacts from many different eras (Roman, Moors, Christian times etc), but is somewhat incoherent.

It was therefore a day of very pleasant sight-seeing interspersed with eating (of course), a rather extended afternoon nap, and finished off with a very fine steak meal in a restaurant with a very charismatic, Johnny Depp like, owner. In fact we were spoiled for choice on interesting and quirky restos (and owners) and James and Nicky were lucky enough to stay on in Sines to check them out.

For our part, the next day we had to say our farewells and trundled off to the bus stop to travel to Lisbon. We had a half day enjoying the old town and the markets before getting our flight back to blighty.

What a fantastic time and what great hosts Nicky and James are. We ticked off all the boxes, be it “proper” sailing, great food and drink, topped off by the dolphins (or is it porpoises ?).

Thank you Mr & Mrs Hole, El Tobos and of course, Seastar! Bon fin de voyage!

A text arrives from James – just GPS co-ordinates – Google Maps shows nothing but blue.   Shortly before that, a Facebook posting showing James as a very salty sea dog, vaguely like the character Das Gespenst from Das Boot.   Thinking I’ll need to find a dingy I guess.    Flight from Stuttgart, via Lisbon to Vigo, Taxi to the marina, and as I drag my rollaboard along the jetty, left, right, straight I see the GPS location getting closer and I haven’t gotten wet yet.  Turns out Google Maps doesn’t track pontoons – time to leave the virtual world and get real.   I’ve passed the replica of the Pinta ( the harbor is Baiona  – the departure point for Columbus ).  There ahead of me is James, repairing the dingy, Toby – and Nicky.  And the Sea Star.   This is great.    Welcome aboard, with a beer.  James – recently at a barber – is looking way less scary than the Facebook image.   Nicky is clearly enjoying the boat life,  Toby – practically attired with a halter – a dog with a handle – has a new buddy.   Life is good.  Settle into my wonderful berth, all the comforts, we need to go see the Pinta, and find a bar with a sunset.    Sunset over the Atlantic, then a wander thru the old town, looking at all the potential dinner options – it’s rather warm even at night, so all the restaurants have spread  tables out onto the sidewalks and streets, we find a simple place with lots of locals and order.   Sauteed Peppers, Baby Calamari, other dishes to match and local wine.  We finish and continue to wander from pub to pub.  Waitstaff and bartenders are friendly, multinational, and life is good.

Perfect night of sleep,  breakfast, and we set out for Viana Do Castelo – Portugal.   Easy sail,  Toby is clearly not happy on the water, he looks for and finds a compliant human-of-the-week to attempt to dig a hole under – so cute.   This boating life is easy to adapt to.   Once we arrive, find our slip, and set off to explore the town for the purpose of inspecting and rating each place for dinner – looking for the right mix of locals, busy and optimally on our scale of dining – closer to dive but with something that shows potential for really good eating.   With luck, we find just the place, with a super friendly restaurant owner with limited English, happy fellow diners and local wine.   We are not disappointed.   We are now in Vino Verde country.   We are enjoying Portugal.

We spend the next day exploring the sight of a Techno Festival being set up, the sounds of which we had heard miles away over the water already yesterday.   Across the street is an ancient Church in a little neighborhood.   The Portuguese walls are covered in tiles that are weathered and imperfect and make the facades of the building feel human scale and to this American, the romanticism of old stones to walk on, and old buildings to fantasize moving into and preserving, makes these old port towns a joy to see.

Our third awesome meal – we decided to step down another notch on the Michelin scale and discovered even more friendly service, even better Vino Verde great fish and more reasons to consider Portugal as a permanent residence.    Next morning – back to the same Cafe for more yellow bread stuffed with ham and cheese, good coffee and yet more friendly service.  Then a sail down the coast to our first port of call on the Atlantic coast just north of Porto, a beach town with beach bistros – and an easy Uber ride into Porto itself for sunset on the iron bridge, and I know I am repeating myself, but yes, another place with friendly owner/waitstaff/family and fish and Vino Verde.

Wandering around Porto everything is good – and for one last snack we stop into a hip new place a step up on the Michelin scale – a sad move, unfriendly, bad wine, a good way to appreciate better all the other places and people we have seen.  Note to self and others – avoid the Mercado Ferreira Borges, as great as this 138 year old building looks – forget eating there.  Back to the Marina – still feeling like another round is due – up to the little village near by, yes of course a pub is open with sausage cooked table-side by 50 cm high open flames – this would just not happen in the USA, and something called a Francesinha – makes the scottish egg look low calorie and healthy by comparison.

We decide to move the boat – and leave the Atlantic harbor and move to the Duoro Marina closer to town – and the port warehouses.    The Ponte Luis 1 iron bridge is only about 25 ft above the river – our mast is 55 ft – so there is a clear end to our journey – but as you can see below – all smiles as we cruise into Porto in the most dramatic way – we see other tourists stuffed into large motor boats for package tours – they are waving.   We turn around and sail down river to our new anchorage.    One last fish barbecue on the banks of the Duoro – Jennifer has flown in to take my place, then I am whisked away by Uber into a different world.

Bad wifi at the Marinas – there plenty of room for improvement – means the work and world was mostly left behind for 5 days of easy times with 2 awesome people and a cuddly dog in friendly ports.  Time in the Airport to catch up on Politics – ugh, then the flight to the Azores, with an evening walking along the port in Ponta Delgada – filled with people eating and talking until way past 1 am – the ferries to the other islands coming and going at all hours, lots activity topped off with a few heavenly bursts from the Persiedes Meteor Showers that evening – all magical.   Good hotel but not as comfortable as the Sea Star.   10 hours later – I’m in an Uber/Lyft – driving back to home in Austin – missing the colors, the water, the fish, and the good company.    A wonderful time.

Baiona is home to the Pinta, the fastest of the three ships in the Columbus expedition of 1492, and at 17M in length is only 2.4M longer than Sea Star, but was home to 26 souls as they ventured into the unknown.

The Pinta

Martin Pinzon

As you walk around this historic vessel, you have to wonder at the courage, hardships and belief of the captain and crew. Rodrigo de Triana was on watch at 2AM on Oct 12, 1492 when he spotted land, but as we all know, Columbus took the credit as leader of the expedition and poor Rodrigo was forgotten, as was the skipper of the Pinta, Martin Pinzon (Columbus was on Nina). Pinta was also first back with the news that a way had been found to India by going west from Portugal; hence the natives are still called Indians and West Indies got their name … A couple of years later (1495) another explorer, Vasco da Gama found a way around the Cape of Good Hope to India and became the first Viceroy of India, but more of him later.

Sea Star was not to be quite so adventurous and with the aid of GPS, we do have some uncertainty in our trip, but nowhere near what those guys faced. We were joined from Austin by Murray and were about to leave the Rias of Galicia and indeed Spain and venture off down the Atlantic coast to Portugal, known for rolling seas directly off the Atlantic (great surfing country), sardines and port. Our first port of call was Viana do Costello. High winds were forecast, so we opted for a good lunch with Sea Star safely tied up in the marina. Lunch (or should I say dinner) was soup followed by a wonderful fish plate with a whole sole each, two other unidentified fish (each), rice, potatoes and salad, all washed down with a litre and a half of the local wine, for €6 each. We were going to like Portugal!! It got even better when we found farturas (a sweet doughnut kind of thing with cinnamon) for €1 and our first port. Viana is a lovely little town which the rat race seems to have forgotten, almost a tourist town, but somehow under developed with a mix of deserted buildings and renovation projects with pockets of the modern high street names (even a tupperware store). The Portuguese are lovely people; so friendly, helpful and happy. They speak some (but enough) English, so we felt very much in a new country, although we had only travelled 30 miles from Baiona.

Next stop was Porto. Wow; this is a wonderful town. All the wine in the world that is permitted to call itself port comes from here and up the Douro river on whose mouth Porto sits. The entry up the river is littered with cellars with familiar names … Dow, Taylors, Cockburns, Sandeman, Offley, Grahams and more. All English names, as it was the English with an insatiable thirst who, unable to buy French wine in the mid 18th century  due to different politics, military conflict and ensuing trade wars and embargoes ventured further south to the Duoro valley to get their wine, but added grape brandy to the recipe to preserve the wine on the longer trip back to UK. It proved a very popular albeit headache inducing recipe, so the Brits snapped up the vineyards and the English names still dominate the south side of the Duoro river in Porto. If you have not been to Porto. Go to Porto. It is great. Away from the destructive conflicts of central Europe in the 20th century, the ancient Porto still remains, and the tourist companies have caught on, so the place was busy with cameras and smart phones taking photos in abundance. Out entry up the river was similarly equipped, but unaffected by crowds. By boat is the perfect way to enter Porto, especially as the sea fog lifts as you cruise up the river and the sun comes out to drench the colourful city. Magical. Jennifer our daughter joined us here and we said goodbye to Murray over dinner and Port. After the obligatory visit to a port house with a 5 port tasting, we ventured south to Lisbon. Not many harbours between Porto and Lisbon, so a 30 hour overnight sail, which should have been aided by the prevailing north to south trade winds, but we sailed on the only day in a decade with no wind, so motored most of the way ..

Guest Contribution; William Blackley

What a fantastic week! And we had everything from a big sea with a strong breeze, as in Force 6 on the Beaufort Scale, to becalmed tootlings between long lunch stops. 

But the devil is in the detail, as always. 

Old Nick, aka Luca, appeared even before we left Santiago, the rendezvous point at the start of the trip. Luca, a Viennese, barefoot iterant, joined us at the street cafe where we’d met Nicky and James and their previous guests, and amused us with stories and songs in return for glasses of red wine. Even when the rain came, he moved inside with us. But as all good things must come to an end, we didn’t take Luca home with us to the boat.

I’d like to mention here that it might have been easier to take Luca with us than the Sea Star’s resident Jack Russel, Tobias. In Spain, and elsewhere I believe, there is policy called the Non-Pero policy which attempts to prohibit dogs travelling on buses. I’ve since discovered that the policy is widespread internationally and applies to trains, ferries and aeroplanes as well. And not only dogs – cats and ferrets too. Horses and poultry fall under a different section of the law altogether. Who knew!

In our case, the really pernicious aspect was the arbitrary nature of enforcement. Namely: no hint of bother on the outward journey where Tobias enjoyed a seat on the bus from Portosin to Santiago, but a total ban when he tried to hop on the bus home.

After several attempts at gentle persuasion involving the driver, his supervisor and several passengers, we gave up and took a taxi. Also public transport, you could say, but fortunately he allowed Doggins to travel. The taxi driver was in fact an all-round hero because shortly after we arrived at the marina, James discovered his mobile phone was missing. Just as tensions were rising, our driver returned with phone in hand… 

And so it continued. Daily, potential disasters were skilfully averted. They became nothing more than anecdotes adding zest to the evening cocktails.

My job, by the way, apart from the general expectation that was on all of us to pull ropes (or whatever they’re called, FFS!) and when I say pull I mean pull hard and hurriedly in a tiny area the size of about three-quarters of me and half of Tobias (in terms of footprint). When push came to shove, I got the better of Tobias, but it shames me to think of it. Oh, and while I’m on the subject of ropes, after you’ve pulled them nice and tight and coiled them neatly, you sit back down and relax a little while. Just as you’re about to take another sip of tea, you have to jump up and let them loose again. But don’t just let them go: “A tidy boat is a good boat,” I heard many times.

So, my job, the reason we were invited aboard, was to cook curries. Indeed! Maybe it was to cook one curry, but that means choosing just one. I decided three was a good compromise. Thus, we’d arrived with a basket of curry spices, just the ones we needed or thought would be hard to source locally. It was silly of me, I can say now with hindsight, not to have brought ground spices or at least a traveller’s pestle and mortar. No matter! What else would we have occupied ourselves with if not trying to mill for ages coriander seeds, black pepper corns, cloves, cardamom seeds, onions and garlic between spoons or later, between stones from the beach?

We set sail the next day, having bought fish, to a little peaceful bay, where we’d drop anchor and prepare curry. 

You’re possibly imagining an evening of culinary delight, the smells of Indian spices frying in ghee wafting past the gin and tonics to torture the neighbouring yacht-dwellers at anchor. Indeed, that happened and a tremendously spicy fish curry was enjoyed. Machchhi Methi, made with copious amounts of ground onions, garlic and ginger, corriander, cumin, tumeric, salt and hot red chilli powder, bhuna’d thrice in yoghurt and fenugreek leaves. But only after sundown, because our anchor was stuck fast in the jaws of its own winch. 

Our anchor would not drop. I felt very bad about this since I was the party guilty of standing on those little black rubber what-you-may-call’ems up front that switch the anchor winch on and off, or rather up and down. In my defence, I had no idea what they were and to be fair I did take my foot off them as soon as I became aware of that grinding noise. James nobly took the blame though, saying a) he should have said something beforehand and b) he should have disabled them from below as per normal, recommended practice. I still have a twinge of bad feeling all the same when I recall now the near hour of whacking the rather massive anchor with the boat’s rather puny claw-hammer. But we shook it loose in the end, watched it trundle satisfyingly into the depths, and returned, relieved and glad, to G&Ts and more spice grinding.

I say G&Ts but some of us had discovered the delights of Spain’s Vermuterias. We’d brought a bottle of a homemade variety from one we’d frequented in A Coruña, the Vernuteria Marinez. It went very well with the curry.

We planned to spend the next day doing much the same. The sea was calm and the forecast was good. We were going to get under way early and pack in a good distance. We reckoned it was Nicola’s turn to get busy in the galley and she offered to cook us all omelettes, a speciality of hers. She prides herself in making them nicely fried on the outside but soft and moist inside.  Baveuse is the French cooking term. It means moist or just a bit runny or undercooked. It is most used to describe a desirable state of doneness for omelettes.

Well that was the plan. We awoke to the tremble of the engine and the rattle of the anchor chain. James had awoken earlier to a sea mist and a dead calm, and thought we should get underway and prepare breakfast on the move. By the time Nicola was sorting out frying pans and eggs in the galley, the gentle rolling of the boat on her empty stomach was starting to make it turn over. To cut this particular story short, she spent the rest of the day in her bunk, not throwing up thank heavens but wishing for salvation of some sort. Luckily, I reckon, she’d had a good base of fish curry the night before.

And what a day it was for those able-bodied sailors remaining. The wind got up and kept getting up, even though, weirdly and stubbornly, the mist clung to us. The breeze, we agreed later with glowing cheeks and exhilaration, was a “strong breeze,” or a Force 6, and it lasted all day. The swell was around 2 to 3m: enough to give the feeling that you’re diving into the oncoming wall of water, let you catch an ear-full of spray and then lift you up to teeter momentarily on the crest before starting again. I had the delighted impression that the boat wiggled her butt from side to side once or twice before dashing down into the next wave. It was exciting as hell. I was over the moon. It was also pretty good when it was all over. I was telling Nicola later how sorry I was that she’d missed it all. She assured me that she had not missed a moment of it.

We reached dry land eventually and tied up. Luckily we had some left-over fish because we’d arrived in a town just beginning a two-day festival. Who knew. No shops open, no supplies. Just a few fillets of fish. So, curry number two was one with lots of tomatoes and the slim pickings of fish baked in mustard oil. Tasty, but no one was getting fat that night.

Despite the public holiday, we found a local baker, or panaderia, open, baking dozens of baguettes in a long, wood-fired oven. We were hungry and admired the hustle and bustle of the two women selling empanadas (pork, fish or Galician scallop) and other little delights. We bought enough for several days. 

Another potential disaster successfully averted. We were not going to starve. 

It almost went too far the other way however, as we were under quite a lot of pressure by the end of the week to eat all this stuff before it went off. Maybe I forgot to mention the fridge situation on board the Sea Star… Just bear in mind that no one is interested in warm beer. Thus there was no room in the fridge: that food had to be eaten. 

Oh, and the plumbing! No, someone else, probably Nicky, can take up that topic, no doubt in a light-hearted fashion now that it’s fixed. James and I were perplexed by it for most of the week. There was a pressure switch at fault, we thought, but on the other hand there seemed be nothing wrong with it. It was tempting to blame it though, since it worked for a while each time after tapping it. The major problem with tapping it was getting at it, there, where it lives inside James and Nicky’s bed. And each time, we optimistically put the bed all back together again and tucked in the sheets. When I say sheets, I mean those large pieces of material one sleeps between. Not ropes for pulling on the clew of a sail, as you might have been thinking. 

Needless to say, our optimism was ill-placed. Luckily, there’s a foot pump at the kitchen sink, or the galley head or whatever.

After madly provisioning the boat for a month at sea, we proceeded at a very leisurely pace from mooring to mooring, stopping each day for a marvellous, well-wined lunch. One of the moorings was at an uninhabited sandy island. It was picture-postcard beautiful, maybe half a mile around, with a bird sanctuary in the middle. The beach was packed with day-trippers, as was the adjoining sea with boats at anchor. I noticed however to my dismay, that not a single one of these anchored vessels was displaying the obligatory black anchor ball to warn other seafarers. I felt for a moment like taking it on and raging at them but instead James, Tobias and I went ashore.

Tobias is young, endlessly energetic and curious. He loves any sort of ball or moving object, or child. It turns out he likes seagulls as well. Perhaps he didn’t understand their aggressive approaches to him, from all angles. We didn’t subject him to their bad attitude for a moment longer than necessary and returned with him post haste to the boat. I think the ladies regretted not joining us on that little excursion because they missed out on a delightful swim in those azure waters.

Next stop was the famous Illa de Ons, a national park for which you have to apply in advance in writing for permission to tie up to a buoy while you visit. James, to his credit, had done all that. It was baking hot when we arrived and just about time for one of those marvellous, well-wined lunches. The waitress was very attentive, I remember, and she kept us well supplied. There surely must be a formula that links the air temperature to the degree of shade you’ve managed to find while still being outside, as well as to the temperature of the wine and relaxed frequency of the steadily arriving plates of little fishes, big fishes, gooseneck barnacles and pimientos de Padrón. And let’s not forget the Galician chips. So we had a fine time. Two bottles of the local Martin Códax, a fruity white 100% Albariño, between four was almost enough.

The mooring was idyllic. I wonder how our neighbours, also tied to their buoys in the little bay, would describe it. The waves gently lapping on the hull, hardly an air; a full moon rising on one side and Mars visible on the other; and the distinct waft of curry number three creeping out from one of those boats upwind, but which one?

Yes, that was the night of the Murgh Irani. Chicken pieces baked in a rich creamy sauce of yoghurt, cream, butter, almond meal and onions, together with garlic, ginger, cardamom, salt and hot red chilli powder; plus fried onions, kewada water (which is divine) and a pinch of saffron diluted in warm water.

It was late to be cooking and eating curry, admittedly. But lunch was late and long, as was the afternoon siesta on the beach. And this is Spain. Embrace the pace!

We’d grown quite accustomed to the pace and then suddenly it was the last day. It began like all of the preceding days since the “big sea” day with Nicola-cooked omelettes baveuses. We’d grown very fond of those as well. Nicky had been watching Nicola’s technique closely because, well, how do you cook an uncooked omelette? This was Nicola’s turn to relax and have an omelette from Nicky and it was delightfully baveuse. If you ever try it at home, just remember you have to fold it over way before you think you ought. It’s all about faith, I suppose.

We arrived in Combarro just in time for, yes, you guessed, another marvellous, well-wined lunch. Once again, Martin Códax did not disappoint. 

Before you could say “Another plate of percebes, por favor!” we were waving goodbye and off in a taxi to Pontevedra, whence (yes, Luca, it’s a good word indeed) we took an express train back to Santiago and A Coruña for the flight home.