Diving for fish-net in the propeller

We’re inside. We've graduated to a super privileged slot, on a borrowed finger pontoon. There was some very professional backing down the lane and into this slot by Capt. Ørnulf!

Once inside and tied onto the pontoon we notice a great wad of fish-net twisted around the propeller. Ick! Ørnulf, with newly purchased snorkeling gear, goes fish-net hunting, knife in hand. We've joined the “Entwined Propeller Club”, just happy that no serious damage is done. We hope.

Chef Shannon makes bacalão today, from the Norwegian dried cod, bought at the Portuguese mercado. Another One Skillet Dish: sauté onion, remove, sauté sliced potatoes, garlic, replace onions. Add soaked (24 hrs.) cod, add sliced tomatoes, lemon, pepper, put a tight lid on it, steam on low heat for 20 minutes, or so.

Eat with a good red wine. Enjoy!

Out in the fog: Fish-net infested Pea Soup

We leave the marina this morning, braving the pea soup fog. No problem, with a couple of "mine swipers", in the guise of an Italian and a British sailboat abreast, just ahead of us. There path shows us a clean route in the fish-net infested waters as we make our careful getaway from Fig. da Fog!

After a few hours the fog turns to heavy midday haze as the whole fleet disperses. No wind, but no fog. No problem!

We arrive at a crowded Nazaré. Apparently all the finger pontoons here belong to the local boats. So the visiting sailboats have to lie two or three to the hammerheads at the end, or along the sides, where they are also piled up three deep.

A siren going off at the fishing boat pier means that a boat has come in with a catch to auction off. We join the crowd quayside to get in on the action. The ten or so men working on cheerfully painted "Nova Estrelinha" are hard at it, removing compartment after compartment of sardines, scooping them into small plastic baskets and, hand over hand, lifting them up to the quay. When a trolley is full it's whisked away by a fork-lift truck to the fish auction inside. Meanwhile onlookers, equipped with small plastic bags, scrounge the area for forgotten sardines, and sometimes get a portion poured into their bags. Meanwhile, just behind us, the catch is auctioned off in the hall beside the pier.

Looks like back-breaking labor.

Fog! And Norwegian dried cod

"Medusa" was out twice. Crashing into the white wall of fog each time. "Sarah Grace" was also straining at the ropes, but had to resign to another day in port. We decided to walk along the foggy boardwalk. At the market we found some bacalão, dried, salted Norwegian cod. Hmmm? All the way from Norway to Portugal to buy Norwegian fish?? Is that coals from Newcastle? Well, it was about half the Norwegian price so we thought Fig. da Foz would be as good a place as any to experiment with bacalão.

Anybody have a good Portuguese recipe?

Portugal´s "Brighton" beach

It rained a little last night. But it doesn’t look like these drops have cooled down the forest fires blazing all along the coast. Another warm and pleasant day for us, tied up between English "Sarah Grace" and Norwegian "Medusa", from Beitestolen! Nice to get to know new sailing companions, all on their way to the Caribbean. We also met a Portuguese/Norwegian couple with a fabulous "Colin Archer" type of sailboat. They live here in Figueira da Foz.

We take a walk along the boardwalk above the beach. Various summer activities below and rows of bright parasols. A sort of Brighton-by-the-sea feeling.

Maybe it’s the 16-degree waters?

Racing an Airplane!

A long motor-sail to Figueira Da Foz. Sunny and dead calm. The auto-pilot is steering, but it takes a real vigilant watch to avoid the fish-nets hanging from all the little buoys, with or without flags, that line our GPS way-point highway we’ve plotted. Though it’s a warm sail the water’s only 16 degrees. All those lovely beaches lining the shore, freezing waves lapping the sand!
We arrive at Figueira da Foz about 8pm only to be stopped at the entrance of the river leading to the marina by the Marine Police. We are directed over to near the breakwater wall, next to a beach, to wait.

We wait. Then, first one, then another little airplane dives, skidding along the river, and, loaded with water, climbs and banks towards the huge tower of smoke across the bay.

"How much horsepower do you have?" he shouts from the police-boat.
"28hp!"
"OK, quickly, go now!” We‘re off, full speed.
“Faster," he shouts, as “Babette” is doing all that she can muster.

We win.
Well inside the harbor wall we turn and watch as, just behind us, three more planes splash-land on the river, pick up speed and water, and roar off to the burning forests.

Welcome to Figueira da Foz!

Weaving between Fish-net flags, by radar

A little after 10am we’re on our way to Leixoes. The marina is closed, we're informed. But it's supposed to be possible to anchor in or near the harbor. We hit a solid wall of fog right out of Viana, but manage to see the fish-net flags by radar at a very close range.

The fog lifts and we are in Leixoes harbor by about 5pm. Inside the breakwater we see Norwegian "Blue Marlin" anchored up along with six other boats. And soon we are also anchored, in about 5m of water.
A quick dinghy trip to the village hidden behind the big busy harbor reveals a little fortress, complete with moat and draw-bridge! And who lives there but the marine police!

Today we have repair number four (4!) on our new "North Sail" main sail.
Our brand-new, cruising main sail was ready just in the nick o' for the trip. We’ve already had to do some sewing on a broken slider which we replaced. Then the screws on the re-enforcement for the battens all came loose, after the Biscay crossing. Now, more sewing. This time a cloth-band, batten-located loosened from its slider.

So I sew and Ørnulf does salmon dinner. Then, unwind with "Blue Marlin".

Bell towers and Port wine cellars

A great buffet breakfast at the Grand Hotel de Paris' beautiful dining room. Good bread, cold veggie omelet. And apple cake.

Ready for the long winding steps up the Clerigo tower with a great view of Porto from the top. We could see the balconies from our Hotel de Paris! Lots of big bells up there, glad they didn't start ringing while we were climbing past them. Porto has long used this tower on a hill as its city symbol, a real landmark.

Across the river we eenie-meenied a Port-wine cellar, took a tour. There we learned the difference between tawny, white, red and vintage ports. It all tasted good; so we bought a bottle for "Babette"’s cellar.

Fado in Porto

We're on the 9am bus to Porto, "Babette”’s crew and another pleasant twosome crew, with dog, from the Annapolis sailboat, "Chaliventure".

Through partly smoky hills, cornfields and villages to the big city of Porto. What a city! Tall, impressive stone buildings, whole facades covered with colored, often patterned tiles. Sky-blue churches, red, yellow, green houses, in shiny tile. Porto has no lack of huge churches, palaces, the Cathedral, the Sé. But it’s rundown.

The city shows a great need of rebuilding and repair. Old buildings have obviously been torn down, whole blocks of them. New ones are coming up, but there is little evidence of good restoration in this UNESCO-listed historic old city.

Here there are buildings that are so tall and lanes so narrow that the sun never falls on the dark cobblestones.

Down on the waterfront in the Ribeira district Porto opens up onto a view out the Duora River and its many bridges. The old iron one is another of Eiffel's design. It has a single round arch and carries both cars and trains over to the far bank where the port wine cellars are lined up along the shore. We took a riverboat ride under the five bridges. We noticed that the harbor wall wasn't the ideal place to tie up a sailboat. There was just one useable iron ladder for the long, green and slimy climb from ebb-tide waters.

We found a great place to spend the night: the Grand Hotel de Paris. Elegant and cheap! Lovely atriums, various sitting rooms, palms, pianos, eclectically decorated. The long, turn-of-the-century dining room, for breakfast, was light and airy, opening out to a garden, with fountain. Our double room, 50 euros, was pleasant, with a balcony and view towards the tall "Clerigos" tower. And a tub.

Just before siesta, on our way up a steep, dark lane in the old city, we noticed a hand-written sign: Fado tonight. For a deposit of 10 euros we could reserve a table for dinner and music from 10 to ca. 2am. So we did. The café is Casa Porto á Noite, in Rúa da Mercadores, and I wouldn't have missed this evening for the world.

There are six tables, about 25 people who get to experience this incredible Fado evening. The food is great, new variations on bacalão, more fried fish croquettes.

At one table a baby, a grandmother and two women are sitting. They turn out to be two of the Fado singers. The cook is another, along with a gangling 20-somethingish fellow. They are all accompanied by two older gentlemen on the mandolin and Spanish guitar. The women chang shawls to go with the song's mood: sad song, black shawl. They sing the melancholy, or the more lively Fados with unabashed pathos. There is an enormous range of volume. From a hoarse whisper to a powerful concert-hall-filling cry. In this tiny café, the songs echo from its stone walls out into the night, to the dark, narrow stone lane. The whole café joins in choruses, enthusiastic clapping. The waiter joins in with comments and choruses. Grandmother hushes if it gets too noisy. Since the toilet is right behind the performers one has to plan a visit there carefully. At about 2am we walk up the steep cobblestones back to Hotel de Paris.

Fado will forever be located in Porto's dark lanes for us.

Smokey light in August: Viana Do Castelo

The heavy, black, smoke clouds have, for the moment, been blown out to sea. We scramble and do an ascent to Mount Luzia. And the Sacré Coeur Basilica at the top. A wide stone step path, within stone walls, leads straight up, through smoky, once green, woods. The eucalyptus is brown and dry, black at the base. Like a tinderbox waiting to be ignited. Fire engines are the only cars we see at the top. And, above, a yellow two-engine aircraft, scooping water and skimming the woods and basilica dome.

This Sacré Coeur Basilica is dedicated to Sta. Lucia. Constructed in the early 19th century, it's directly inspired by Paris' Montmartre original. Hill and all. There would have been a great view' without all this smoke, of green hills, yellow beaches and the sea to the west. The city, with its Eiffel Bridge is to the south. The old green riveted bridge, for cars and trains, does resemble Eiffel's tower in Paris. Only this one is horizontal. And lonnnnger.

Viana do Castelo has a quiet, lovely old town. 16th century facades, wide plazas, narrow cobblestone lanes and, no surprise, plenty of outdoor cafés. Not the same midnight family-dinner habits as in Spain, but very good food! Coming from Norway, the source of the cod for the Bacalão, we had to give that a try. There are at least 365 recipes I’ve heard. And I think they have one of the best ones at Restaurant á Covas in Viana. The good croquettes and bread that appear on the table, as an appetizer, almost ruined our appetite though. But we have an ocean of time. There are only two tables being served in the quiet narrow lane. And soon we are alone, in the dark evening.

But just then a guitar playing troubadour wanders up to our café, and plays some melancholy love songs. As we sip our last glass of wine.

Black smoke in Portugal

At 10am we head out into the hazy, smoky morning light. The fires are blazing in the hills, laying a huge smokescreen along the coast by Viana Do Castelo. Light winds at our backs, we motor-sail south. At the river separating Spain from Portugal we raise the Portuguese courtesy flag. This is our first time ever in Portugal. Will it be very different from Spain?

Entering the harbor and the marina, no problem. But we are now experiencing the worst effects of the brush fires ever. Smoke is billowing, rolling down the hills and into the town, and harbor. Ash is falling like big hot snowflakes. We get out our muslin mosquito netting, filtering the smoke that is getting into "Babette".

As the hills, the entire town and Eiffel’s long train-bridge fade in the dark smoke-clouds.

A Blood-red Sun in Bayone

A blood-red sun, dividing the sky in two, one half dark and dirty with smoke, the East, with golden morning light. Each side struggling now for a part of the sky.

Time for a photo-safari of the dramatic harbor light. I pass "Pinta" and continue on to Monterreal Fortress. Lovely morning sea-views from along the city's walking path, just below and outside the castle walls. The path of stone and sand is well-kept. It's closer to the breaking seas than up on the fortress walls. Perfect for the joggers, dog-walkers and fishing pole-armed Bayona people I met along the way. It goes around the peninsula, from the sports arena, basket-ball courts, to the beach.

Above there is a helicopter dumping big buckets of water on the still-blazing brush-fires.

Captain Pinzón: India sighted!

Bayone's history and culture isn't advertised in bright neon lights here. The jumble-sale bookstore, pure chaos, doesn't seem to have any local, regional or national literature in any language on top of the various piles of books. Not much at the Tourist Information either. Just one folder with numbered descriptions of various sights.

But no problem finding Monterreal Fortress, towering on Mt. Boi Peninsula. It guards the western approach to the Bayona harbor. A complete walled grounds, with various turrets and towers. You can walk along the wall. There's a great view of the sea and islands, the city and its beaches. Though the settlement has a 2000 year history, it only received royal privileges 800 years ago. No bloody victories to boast of, it seems, but Columbus' "Pinta" did enter the harbor here, with Captain Pinzón aboard, on the 10th of March, 1493. It was in Bayona that Europeans first learned that "India" had been discovered.

A full-scale "Pinta" reconstruction lies in the harbor and for one euro you can climb onboard. Below deck you can see what it was like to be a cook at sea, and see Indians, encaged, and other souvenirs Columbus and Co. picked up in the Caribbean.

Today in the harbor the entertainment is a little yellow propeller airplane scooping water, then flying over to the dark billowing smoke from over the hillsides. We watch, and film, run after run. It seems to be a sort of drop-in-the-bucket operation. Fighting all that windblown flame. Hope they manage to save somebody's house. By evening huge dark clouds cover Bayona's blue skies, coming against the ground wind. Ashes begin to fall, graying the shiny white yachts on the pontoons.

At 11pm there's a concert in the town Plaza: a dozen or so guitarists playing and singing popular Spanish love-songs. The southern Norwegian-American equivalent would have to be "The Lindesnes Accordion Band". After a "Bolero" we and a pleasant sailing couple from the Netherlands ducked out.

At a cozy sidewalk café we tried out a good Spanish white wine.

Windblown Battle in Bayone

The wind increases all day. Force 7 in the harbor is the prediction. All the boats on the outside of the pontoon will have to leave, go out and anchor. Just getting off the pontoon will be a challenge. Sailors and staff discuss weather and logistics all morning.

By 1pm, our fenders are just about flat against the pontoon, waves of salt water splashing over, the sailboats lunging like broncos on short lines; the pontoon is a writhing snake. The decision is made: Local berth-owners have been contacted. The marina has decided that all the outsiders are to be temporarily moved inside. Then they bring out their monster. A big power-boat with a 225h. outboard. It roars into action, ropes are flying, and the bows of each sailboat are pulled out from the quay. It’s a tug o’ war against the wind, but the other sailors and staff tip the battle, handling ropes and fenders, pushing off.

Soon we're all happily bobbing in the quiet waters inside. Happy ending. No damages!

In the evening the brushfires on the hills towards Finisterra seemed more and more extensive in the strong blow. Dirty-yellow smoke filled the South-eastern sky. The hillside has a red lining, flames high at places. We are grateful for a peaceful, safe place to lie.

Out of the wind.

"Goose-winged" sail to Bayone

Or "Baione" as it's written at the marina we are shanghaied into. Directed by red-shirted staff to a rolly place on the outside of the farthest pontoon, with the wind hard against us.

But before we get that far, sailing into the bay, we get a distant look at red-tiled roofs nestled in green hills, a sort of enlarged Flekkefjord! Closer up we see a castle and surrounding fortress wall, flags flying from turrets. Starboard: sandy beaches, and a typical Spanish facade of glass verandas along the waterfront. Though partially rebuilt with some pretty boring 60's tourist hotels . Behind the waterfront facade there are lots of cozy, narrow, café-lined lanes. A mini-La Coruña! We try Jaquesvi, (Jamon+queso+vino, that is: ham+cheese+wine) But we prefer fish. Grilled fish for two, por favor.

Wandering around the cobbled lanes we follow the sound of pipes and drums. And in a narrow, little pub, crowded round a little table piled with instruments and red wine, there are 6 or 7 musicians jamming with Gaelic bagpipes, drums, tambourines, shells played like spoons, flutes. Song and dance. A woman with a big mop of black curls is on the big drum, but later they squeeze the guests, creating a 3 meter dance floor and our drummer and one of the pipe-players do some traditional dancing. And all with loads of enthusiasm and laughter. Fabulous musicians and great fun.

Returning along the dark stone lanes we catch the sound of a piano. Someone practicing behind one of the open doors of a glass-veranda? Following our ears again we round a corner and more or less fall into a large Plaza. Filled with folding chairs and their occupants. A bright canvas-roofed stage in front has two (2!) grand pianos and four hands playing as we stumble into the crowd. Midnight, and standing-room only! We catch the last piece, and two extras, both jazzy.
A lot of music to digest back in "Babette", rocking and rolling in the choppy waters outside the pontoons.

The wind increasing.

Beyond the End of the World: Muros

"Babette" and "Blue Marlin" from Stavanger, set sail to Muros. Along the notorious "Costa del Morte", past the Finisterra headland. The “End of the World”! The Norwegian equivalent would be stormy Statland. But we barely see white-tops on the water today, sailing pleasantly downwind.

By about 6pm we are well-anchored in 13.5 m of water. Anchoring is a new hobby. We heave out a huge pile of chain, the harbor is getting a bit choppy as evening falls. A lovely scenery floating by as the boats all swing in semi-circles on their anchors: sandy beach, anchored sailboats, fishing-boats along the quay, white, glass-veranda houses, red-tiled roofs.

The six year old "Blue Marlin" twins row over to “Babette” with their parents, and help us do our "Flekkefjord Puzzle”.

Among Pilgrims and Gargoyles

A quiet, slow morning. All the pilgrims are resting from their journey to the Apostle James' grave. They've arrived.

They’ve left the green hillsides and small villages behind, and are resting on the cobblestone. Santiago is built of stone. Stone, from the cobblestones plazas, all the many stone-masons' buildings and fantasy figure gargoyles. There are churches, convents, and the cathedral filling the whole Old City. Enormous heights, huge squares. Still the car-free, pilgrim-filled city is quiet. No stress.

The legend here tells of a hermit, Paio, who saw strange lights over the old Roman fort, at Libredon, like a field of stars (Campus + stellae= Compostela!) And, lo and behold, a local bishop discovered the Apostle James' and two of his disciples' graves right there. It seems James had been active in Galicia, preaching, but was killed and beheaded in the Palestine. His remains were returned to Galicia by boat, then by oxen-pulled cart. Churches built on the very spot have grown in size and prestige since.

In the middle-ages Santiago de Compostela was one of the three major centers of Christianity second only to Rome and Jerusalem. From cobblestone lanes to tiled roofs there's history and culture imbedded in each stone in Santiago! The Cathedral museum ticket lets you into three different entrances, out to colonnaded balconies and inner cloister courtyards. We discover a long line winding around behind the beautiful "Portico de la Gloria". Pilgrims in search of greater wisdom or with a wish to fulfill can place their hands on David’s feet, then knock their head three times on the statue of "Santo dos Croques". Knocking sense into their heads? Smart enough already, we didn't join the queue.

We say farewell to Santiago and all its pilgrims and return now to tiny Camariñas and "Babette".

Santiago de Compostela by moonlight

It's fiesta day, the Virgin Mary's ascension to heaven. That means the only bus to Santiago goes at 18:30. And we're on it. Up and down hillsides, past rolling fields of corn, rows of windmills on hilltops, villages with a variety of "pillboxes-on-stilts", some topped with crosses. They're for storing corn. After one and a half hour and one bus-change we're at a big city bus-terminal.

Santiago has 90,000 inhabitants, and a huge summer invasion of tourists and pilgrims. We grab a cab. Luckily, he drives us right into the heart of the pedestrian-only Old City and right to the perfect place to stay, Doña Ester’s five room Pension con Encanto. Truly enchanting, especially our lively and always smiling hostess. (Address: Rua de Abril Ares 1, near Praza de S. Miguel dos Agros.) This is our first miracle, finding a bed, without a reservation, cheap, right in the middle of the old city, behind the Cathedral, during these busy Fiesta days. The Pencion is in a little square, off one of the many winding, sidewalk-cafe lined lanes.

Santiago de Compostela by night is overwhelming. Moonlit stone towers, narrow paths, steep steps, vaulted passageways echoing with Gaelic bagpipes played in the shadows. Then we go out onto the huge Stonemasons square. There, a Renaissance troupe in costume is playing lutes and tambourines behind a colonnade. Pilgrims rest, their packs and walking sticks stacked in piles around the columns.

Under a full moon, the grey stone on the enormous gargoyled towers turns spooky. The ancient bells sound, deep and hoarse; it's midnight. Time to return to the clean ironed sheets at Doña Ester’s "Pension con Encanto".

Bob Marley in Camariñas

Today we met a friendly family from neighboring town, Mandal. Two teenage girls and their parents in their 31 foot Mamba, "Agape" on their way south. We now have the whole south coast of Norway represented in the harbor, from Stavanger to Mandal, with us from Flekkefjord centrally located.

In the evening we find a great little grill-cafe on the harbor road, called O.Curbeiro, a popular place with round wooden tables with small trees growing up out of the middle of them, good grill-food, and Reggae music playing.

Market Day in the "Lace Capital" of Spain

It's Saturday in Camariñas and there's an outdoor mercado: fresh fish, fruit, and heavenly bread. We fill up our little galley.

We have discovered that our new mainsail has a screw loose. In fact several screws missing, the rest are loose. The new, very solid looking sail didn't even manage the Biscay crossing! It has thick plastic plates, screwed in at each batten (batten: flat, plastic thing-y that stiffens up the sail). Except the star-headed screws, have all loosened, the ones that haven't disappeared entirely.
Lucky for us little Camariñas has some screws that fit. These are regular, not star-type, the better to tighten them with. And "Babette" has a little tube of "lock-tight" to further help them stay put. So we return to "Babette" to saw off half of all 20 screws, to the right length.

Camariñas is known for its lace and the women who make it. The lace, called encaixe, is used on their national costume here. And on the towels, handkerchiefs, table cloths, just about everything. It keeps the lace-women, the Palilleiras', hands moving. They "braid" the threads which are gathered in wooden spindles, then they use pins to hold the pattern in place as they braid. Sitting in the doorways, comfortably in the shade, they make lace all morning and, after siesta, in the afternoons, too.

Camariñas has a statue and a museum in its town square. No war heroes or battle victories. The statue portrays a Palilleira, a lace-maker, the museum shows Encaixe, lace.

Sailing the "Costa del Morte"

We're off at 10:30 am, and soon sailing with goose-winged sails, the wind right behind. Just a pleasant breeze all the way down, until the approach to Camariñas.

The winds near shore, inside some rugged rocks awash, give us a good tilt. Now we're roaring along the rocky shore of "Costa del morte". Good waypoints and various landmarks guide us well into Camariñas’ harbor. It's a barren, rocky coast, with some spectacular "cubistic" formations, and square lighthouses.

A solid gold coast in the evening light as we sail in.

"Copacabana" picnic

A bright morning haze, perfect for an early photo-safari in La Coruña. I "snap" the dog that always sits on the prow of a red and white fishing boat, returning to the harbor in the mornings.

To the beach in the afternoon: just a short trolley-car ride along the waterfront. At 5pm it's still warm. And the water? A good Norwegian summer sea temperature, about 18 degrees.

We find a nice spot. A bread, cheese and chorizo picnic, peppered with fine sand.

Lantern Light in the La Coruña Harbor

It's "Babette's" day today: wash and repairs.
Chandleries and hardware stores.

In the evening we have a nice impromptu gathering of Norwegian and Swedish sailors under the bimini aft. "Christina" and "Aurora", with Una, 3 years old, join us under the dark, warm Spanish skies.

A trolley car ride to The Tower of Hercules

A soft grey morning, thick fog out in the bay. "Grace", with a Swedish couple onboard, ties up near us after a good 4-day sail from Kinsale in Ireland. The sun has broken through when we take a ride in the antique wooden trolley, with open, glassless, windows. The trolley tracks snake along the waterfront, by museums and long Copacabana beaches that surround the city center. It costs 1 euro a ride!

We get out at the enormous Roman lighthouse, Torre de Hercules. It's a short hike up to the huge antique tower. Then a steep climb up this unique working Roman lighthouse. The fog-horn is signaling now, out into the still-foggy bay.

The area surrounding the tower, 47 ha, is an enormous outdoor sculpture park. Bronze, granite sculptures, a huge blue compass and other modern installations. It would take a couple hours to walk through it all.
After our lighthouse visit we hop on a new trolley, and get off at the beach. It's a nice sunny day, perfect for a stroll along the walkway and the sandy beach. Then we take a 90 degree left. It’s a short hike back through the city, to the harbor and “Babette”. But if your curious about the ancient lighthouse, here’s the story:


TORRE DE HERCULES: The Legends:
There are legends written in the chronicles of Alfonso the wise that tell of the terrible giant, Gerion. Luckily for the giants neighbors, some poor villagers, Hercules, son of Zeus, comes to their rescue. In a mere three days he conquers and beheads the giant. The head is buried at the site where a tower is erected.

There's also a Gaelic myth about the Lighthouse. According to the 12th century Irish monks' chronicles in "The Book of Invasions" a huge tower is erected by King Breogan in the city of Brigantia. Ith, one of Breogan's ten sons sights Ireland from the tower. And no sooner seen, than off he goes to conquer Ireland. But fate would have it that he gets killed there, and his body returned to Brigantia. His brother, Mic, swears revenge, a not uncommon force in the history of nations. And off he goes and conquers the Thuatha-de-Dannon peoples of Ireland.

History books now describe an older Celtic settlement, "Brigantia", which the Celts called Artabros. During the 2nd century the Roman Emperor, Trajan decides that ships bringing iron and copper from the British Isles need a guiding light and has architect Lupo design this huge tower and dedicate it to Mars. It still lights the rocky and windblown coasts north of Finisterra (which means World’s End) till the Normans invade in the 5th century. It isn’t lit again till it is restored in 1791.

It's still working today.


Today:
This evening we have a 4-star meal onboard, ingredients provided by the La Coruña Mercado: lots of good fish and fresh vegetables. Just add saffron-yellow Spanish-rice and a good Ribeira red wine. Then eat it, out under the Bimini, lantern swinging in the breeze.

The night is still young in Spain and we take a jaunt into town, to a little Jazz pub in Rua Orega, Jazz Filloa, There's a good ambience in the tiny room with five little wooden tables, modern cd-jazz playing. At the bar there is a little model, shoebox size, depicting the interior of the bar, down to the red fire extinguisher! The pub is invisible by day in a graffiti- filled alley, the metal roll-up front wall pulled down like a window-shade. It comes alive at night.

We stop at a Celtic (Gaelic) pub, too: A COVA FOLK. A lively, younger crowd is listening to cross-over folk-rock, similar to Danish "Instinkt". Guinness on tap. On our way back towards "Babette" we stop again, this time outside a student pub and listen to some jazz-guitar jamming through the open door/window.

We take a cobblestone swing in the dark lane, before heading back to "Babette".

Which squid?

The day dawns white with fog. Several boats are out sniffing at the wind; they're soon back in the harbor, after meeting the white walls surrounding them. Ørnulf has a 14 hour night and feels rested.

A short walk from the harbor we find the Mercado, with plenty of fresh fish, fruit, veggies, bread, cheeses, chorizo... And a huge Super Mercado underneath. But shopping on "Babette" means checking out chandleries all day. One is near the dock, but there’s not much there. Five are way out along the quay. A little of this, a bit of that, but nothing really extensive.

But you get pretty hungry looking at halyards and carabine locks. Luckily La Coruña beats even Kinsale at restaurants pr. capita. There are whole streets of them, from Calle de la Galera, starting at Plaza de M. Pita (Maria Pita is La Coruña’s Joan of Arc).
We choose "Mezan de Pulpo" and can recommend it. There are plenty variations on a squid to choose between. Among other fishy foods. Here in Spain dinner's at 10pm! We join Norwegian and Swedish sailing friends later at another sidewalk café, and walk "Christina" back to their berth in the older marina. It's a short walk through the old town's narrow lanes.

We return to "Babette" along the lovely waterfront path, pineapple palm-tree lined.

Hola, La Coruña!

Suddenly the wind drops, the seas lie flat. We're in lee of land. But still hearing the calls for assistance on ch.16 from the rough Biscay seas.

Within two hours we are tied up in the La Coruña Harbor. A lovely feeling. As two boats are assisted into harbor by the Spanish coast guard.

After a rough night we've been able to enjoy the last protected stretch in warm, calm waters, just a slight breeze as the sky lightens. Soft grey-green hills appear out of the darkness on the horizon. Then the sun rises from behind the hills. Cool becomes hot. We navigate into the harbor; it's Sunday morning and the church bells are ringing. Really. The waterfront: palm trees, flowering bushes, wide, stone walkways, tall, white balconied buildings. And a steaming morning haze.

We heave all the wet gear and bedding over the boom and railings. Hit the showers! Old sailor friends from Swedish "Regina" are on the quay. Later we manage a quick peek at La Coruña's narrow lanes and huge open Plaza de M.Pita.

A day of rest and recovery, early to bed.

Gale winds in The Biscay

A grey morning, the last of the calm seas. I wash the cockpit, Ørnulf cooks porridge. Full sails and we're weaving in and out of bulk carriers as the shipping lane crosses us.

By 4:30pm we have two reefs and a rolled in genoa. Today's highlights are French toast and rashers for dinner, and a little flying fish we find on deck and then throw back in. This little fishy seems to be a cross between a sardine, mackerel and swordfish, with emphasis on sardine (20 cm).

With sails well "tucked in" for the night we're ready for the winds and seas ahead. Slowly we climb up the Beaufort scale, winds increasing through the 20's and into the upper 30's during the night. The seas are rough, but "Lille-Per" takes all watches in stride and "Babette" has no problems riding the waves. We're on our last leg towards La Coruña.

During the night we are alerted, over ch.16, to a serious situation for another sailboat. Heavy weather, a novice and seasick crew are tiring out a little English sailboat. They have backed their sails, but are still drifting, too quickly, towards a lee shore. In fact there are two sailboats out in The Biscay with various difficulties. Fishing line in propellers is another problem in the shallow Biscay Bay.

But "Babette" is bounding along. Taking the waves in stride.

A foggy day in The Bay of Biscay,

A wet, grey day. Ørnulf serves Scottish porridge at 0-nine-hundred. The seas have calmed. Just a gentle Atlantic swell. But enough wind to sail, force 3 and 4. Then "Babette" is becalmed as we're swallowed up by swirling fog. By now we're pretty good with the radar and can see the bulk carriers and fishing boats a long way off.

A quiet afternoon, Ørnulf gets a haircut. Later I make Norwegian pancakes, and bring out the raspberry preserves.

Now we are halfway over to Spain and time to exchange the Irish courtesy flag with the Spanish one. Ørnulf photographs the event. The sea is still calm and the guitar makes an appearance on deck.

Dinner: fried rashers (Irish bacon), onions, Scottish broth.

Racing into the North Atlantic, fully Reefed

We're sailing due south from the Celtic Sea into the North Atlantic, on the Biscay's west flank. After four hours of motor-sailing through a calm, we sail in light winds, WSW. "Lille-Per", wind-vane, is managing quite well. We still have some radio contact (VHF) with the Swedish boats, "Blue Marlin" and "The Spice II"; we all left about the same time. But as distances increase, sound quality decays.

Gradually the wind increases and we take in one reef at midday and another before the night watches. We have force 4 and 5 winds and are going great guns, fully reefed, now, and sailing close-hauled.

At 14:30 we have brought a huge bulk carrier to a halt. We had hove-to let him pass in front of us in the now strong, force 5, winds. He enquires politely, over the vhf radio, if we are in need of assistance. No, but thanks for asking! A pleasant conversation with the skipper of the "Olympia"; we appreciate his concern!!

On my night watch we are still sailing close-hauled. With our whole 360 degree horizon black, except one tiny little group of firefly-glows. The weak lights turn out to be a hornet's nest of fishing vessels. They stop, change directions, go slowly, trawl and take off for new fishing areas. It takes my whole three hour watch to weave through them.

I seem to get all the fun.

Crossing the Bay of Biscay

At 11 am we're off, the mainsail hoisted in the harbor. Just about an hour of calm, then a good strong breeze blows in. We take in two reefs; that's about half the mainsail. Then we roll in the genoa, our big jib. And we're still doing over 6 to 7 knots. "Babette's" top speed. We sail due south, the wind more or less abeam, westerly. "Lille Per", our wind-vane, is busy steering. A few dolphins circling us below and Gannets above see us off.

At night we follow the Milky Way, the North Star lighting our wake. The seas are calm, no moon on the dark water.

A day in Cork

After posting the sad news of my missing camera to the insurance people, we bought a new camera. Same brand, hopefully compatible to the zoom and other thingies of the old one. A few more pixels, so that was nice. I watch over it like a ferocious mommy bear. I'm not going to lose this cub!

Cork is big. But it has a nice center with traditional Irish music playing from every other street corner, lots of music shops and pubs. We'll have to make a date to come back; no time now to enjoy it all. We have Bay of Biscay on the brain.

At a internet café we get a look at some weather forecasts; it seems we just may be setting off across the Bay of Biscay tomorrow. Wow! Next stop La Coruña.

After one last trip to the chandlers.

The good news and the bad news

The good news is that we move out of the pontoons and anchor up in the bay. A giant step forward, this will soon be our only means of stopping! There is a Swedish boat, "Christina" and a Danish boat, "Najaden", there already; so now we have a little Scandinavian colony established outside of Kinsale.

In the morning we do some repairs; I sew a new slider into the main sail, replacing a broken one (our new North Sail!). Ørnulf inflates the dingy, finds the instruction books and reads up on our new outboard. Then I paint a canary-yellow checker pattern over both boat and motor, making them rather noticeable, and, hopefully, less stealable.

In the afternoon the bay is filled with sail. Kinsale Yacht Club has a regatta today. There’s just about every class afloat, from cruising size down to the little optimist dinghy. We have Swedish sailor friends from "Christina" onboard, ringside the races.

The bad news is my camera got stolen today. We think it was taken from the dingy, tied up for a short time on its maiden voyage. We were rather preoccupied with all the new knobs, pull-cords and procedures in the art of dingy motoring. I suppose that's why we managed to leave it, in its water-proof zip-lock bag, behind, under the bench. Sigh. We reported to the Garda. My name is engraved into the camera. That will make the new owners happy. Though only a miracle would make it appear again here.

So sad. I‘ll miss all the fabulous pictures of molten glass forming lovely pitchers in the Waterford Crystal factory.