Spain to Portugal to Spain 01 June – 3rd July

Dark red blended into indigo sweeping across the sky in huge paint brush strokes. If I could choose to arrive just before sunset I always would, the boat tucked softly to bed under a rainbow blanket. Just before dark is cutting it fine for comfortably anchoring, but sometimes we can’t help it, especially after a long journey. The first challenge was to not get caught in one of the many rusty old anchors long forgotten on the sea floor, many photos of which were posted alongside reviews of the port…

Being the only ones not in the harbour didn´t feel encouraging, especially as it was close to the shipping lanes where cargo and fishing boats heaved out and in throughout the night.

Getting to town the following morning was the next hurdle, since the whole area seemed to be fenced off from land with great effort, at least 2 metres tall with barbed wire on top. Eventually after paddling around for ages trying to find a beach that hadn’t been imprisoned, we found a little spot in the harbour and hoped nobody would notice us slipping in.

Porto at midday was HOT.

The twisting and turning steep streets and alleys did nothing to cool our boiling bones, though we did our best to enjoy the scenery.

Little wine shops line the streets, round tables crowned with bowls of bread and olive oil call you in. Intricate green and white tiles iced the houses like wedding cakes, and plates of mixed animal parts displayed in windows collect flies and photographs from tourists.

That night we sailed into the estuary as the hot evening sun dipped into the cold Atlantic. On the horizon a bizarre mirage reflected and distorted the big container and fishing ships, stretching them high into the sky, inverted and enormous.

Around 30 boats totally overfilled with people motored directly towards us. Wondering if there was something we needed to escape, we bravely sailed on through. 15 minutes later the tourists returned with their sunset selfies, a good daily income for the skippers I’m sure, but completely necessary if they ever want to fill up on water, as the port tries to charge €30.

Joining the many boats anchored near the dirtiest beach I´ve seen in my life, we had the dirtiest wash I´ve ever had in my life. Armed with Shampoo, a feeble attempt at normality while washing in a salty brown river in front of tourists, while dead seaweed slapped at our ankles. It wasn’t our first depressing shower, and it definitely won’t be the last.

On the 4th June we sailed 40 miles to Aveiro, leaving Porto draped in heavy mist behind. Palm trees and city blocks poked their heads through the veil as though hovering above the land. keeping careful watch while sailing blindly through the clouds we let the dolphins lead us quietly through the mist, their splashes amplified by the closeness of the sky.

There was pressure to arrive in the Guadiana river before the 18th June since Niels was heading back to Leipzig for work at the theatre project. The west coast of Portugal being so exposed to the Atlantic called for careful planning, ideally sailing with wind that came from land or behind. A short good weather window came, and with 300 miles still to go we slept the night in Aveiro before continuing on to Cascais, where a cove by the harbour sheltered us from the north winds that accelerated over the cliffs, whistling it’s way through the rigging and out to sea.

With a few days of waiting for calm ahead of us, we made the most of the long light days. The chilis that had been farting and fermenting away were rather excitedly processed into our own Tabasco. Niels went on a hardware shopping spree and fixed one of our solar panels which was getting water damage. Bella and I busked and met up with a friend of a friend who kindly let me post 50 t-shirts to her mum’s house for my screen printing dreams…

One evening we sailed into the Lisbon estuary to find veggie sausages. Like only a vegetarian superhero could- Niels shot off on his penny board on an almost impossible mission, and with only 25 minutes till closing time. Armed with Lidl’s finest, he returned to find that the water police where moving us on due to a concert happening nearby… perhaps we didn’t quite fit the look they were going for. The next nearest anchorage was by a big tumbling down wall, which we nearly blew into the following morning as surprise winds pressed us closer and closer to the amused fisherman sat watching on.

 A little yellow train follows the rugged coast to Lisbon where we spent a day trying to spend as little money as possible, with the most fun as possible.

That night we returned with armfuls of treasure, postcards, Habaneros for making chilli sauces, many spices and rices from the world food shops, piles of pastries thrown out of the bakeries and a 12 pack of eggs abandoned outside Lidl. By the time we reached home, there were 9 remaining eggs. A sad stop at a drinking fountain found us scrubbing yolk out of my bag, clothes, and Bella’s wallet- which to this day still looks suspiciously eggy despite going through the washing machine twice.

The winds weren’t getting calmer, but it wasn’t going to get worse either according to the forecast. Days were ticking by and with the price of harbours too extortionate to even consider while Niels was away,  it was decided that we would just go for it, and once we were around the most western corner of Portugal we would be protected for the last leg of the journey.

On the 12th June there was up to 30 knots of wind from behind pushing us along between 6-9 knots, going especially fast surfing down the waves. It was pretty exhausting on the first night since the autopilot wasn’t fast enough to steer against each wave that curled us off course, risking the sail flapping the wrong way, or the boat being side on to the waves. I’ve never been good at night sailing, not trusting my eyes reading the other ships direction lights, and getting scared by such a loud dark sea. There was no space to be scared, it took all my concentration and strength to keep on course. Waves from behind splashed into the cockpit, but I was sweating so much I didn’t really notice. After manoeuvring around an enormous fishing boat alone for the first time I had had enough, so Niels took over until the early hours were over.

It’s hard to rest easy when someone else is alone on nightshift, and every hour or so I’ll poke my head out of bed hoping to see a leg or arm through the door confirming that everyone is still on board. I love waking to a sleepy sunrise Niels laying in the doorway, catching a few moments rest.

Once around the western cape of Portugal, stone cliffs with colourful sediment striped and sliding sideways into the water welcomed us into their shelter. That last day of sailing to Faro was very chilled, we ate lentil soup, and all sat out in the evening hours drinking kefir and doing Spanish Duolingo. The water was crystal clear and full of glowing algae lighting up the anchor chain, visible 6 metres down to the bottom. Finally, by the wall outside the entrance to Faro at 1am we all rolled into bed.

It took around 6 hours to motor the 20 miles upriver, spending a night half way on a quiet river bend, enjoying the oasis of bushes and bamboo that poured into the water, thriving, exploding with pink flowers. Many boats line the riverbanks, some actually in the bushes, left hanging after some floodwater or spring tide, but it doesn’t seem to bother the owners who have set up a camp on land around them.

The water is 28 degrees and brown. You can’t even see your own belly button while swimming, but we´ve been told it is actually very clean. Some people we met even use it for cooking but that was a step too far even for us, although continuing to use our Osmosis filter for drinking. One morning a dead fish floated by us while we were swimming, and I swear I saw the same one again later that day as the current changes direction every 6 hours or so.

Bella and I looked after the boat while Niels went back to Germany for work. It was a gorgeous week, softly raining the first few days, washing away the salt and silt, refreshing us and the land. We watched the solstice sunrise on the longest day from two old windmills on a hill nearby, painting and laughing, burning incense and also my shoe. The local saltwater swimming pool was great fun and we brought our boat neighbours along. They had a big rusty old steel boat that felt like home. Many long nights were spent sharing kefir, herbs, beers and stories. Choosing between Portuguese and Spanish time became quite the joke, allowing us to say it was earlier or later depending on what we fancied, enabling many a late night- and also, late morning.

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Cactus pink and painted cheeks,

The river where Portugal meets,

Spain still olden,  see solstice golden

Muddy river washing tired feet

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One morning Bella and I hitched to the petrol station to get fuel for our cheeky dingy which kept running out at inconvenient times. My phone then took a one way ride to Faro where I can only assume started a new life.

It was our first glimpse of inland, which quickly became dusty and beige. Deep pits are dug out for drying salt, enhancing the impression of desert.

After the last rains however, we found some wild fennel and mint by the river, and the pinkest prickliest pears to paint our lips and faces with. It was getting hotter, and our make-shift sun awning kept falling down. Wooden pegs pinged off like fallen soldiers washed down the river. Every time the tide turned, we would have the sun coming from a different angle, and so it was that Niels brought home with him 3 double duvet covers from Lidl to be turned into some professional sun protection. Over the course of several days they were perfected, and still hang proudly, shielding us, but most importantly- my beautifully varnished cockpit from the unforgiving sun.

Our last days on the boat were spent preparing to leave for a month, finding a mooring, and screen printing 50 t-shirts to sell in Germany. The muddy riverbed is washed down to stone in some sections, and old trees have been known to roll along the floor picking up anchors and moorings along the way. We drifted a couple of times, the second being the day that Niels returned. It was kind of Atlanta to wait for him.

We weren’t the only ones chasing our boat down the river, twice a yellow catamaran broke free and drifted several hours downstream, and Niels had to rescue a brown boat that had broken free and came hurtling by faster than was necessary.

The mooring was surprisingly simple. A chance encounter with a boat called Tiger Lily gave us the contact for a man called Christian. Before he even met us, we were invited over the phone to a festival in Loule, and on the drive he gave us a friend’s mooring, and sorting all the logistics for leaving and returning. It all seemed too good to be true. My plants would be well cared for, as well as the water kefir. The last things were making an anchor light (out of a plastic cup I got from an 80’s club in Brighton) and some LED´s, putting the fridge outside the boat incase of an electrical anomaly while we were away, and printing the 50 t-shirts in 35 degree heat without the ink drying in the frame, and hanging them out to dry without sticking to each other. At night it cooled down to 30, thinking this would solve some of my problems I set up the lights outside… only to attract all of the creatures of the night into the sun awning where they couldn’t escape from. They buzzed and whistled infront of my headtorch, sticking in the paint and in my nose, ears and eyes. It was horrific. Niels and Bella wanted nothing to do with the situation and sheltered indoors from the swarm. It was so awful that no one even took a photo, it was that un-funny.

Finally it was over, sleeping only a few hours before piling our bags into a borrowed dingy that was no longer inflated, but had been stuffed with sponge and cork, wine balloons and anything else to keep it above water. A pale gold sun swam through the crack of the hills encouraging us on. It was an adventure and a half going against the current, and eventually getting onto a sinking homemade pontoon that could only carry one person at a time. A short walk through the bamboo and up to a dusty track we were greeted by a smiling Christian in his old black Volkswagen.

And that was the end of our water adventures for a little while. Bella went back to England to be reunited with her whole family for the first time in a long time. I spent 2 weeks cooking for a children’s circus in Germany while Niels built a wooden spiral staircase in my parents kitchen. We sold my T-shirts at a festival, went to Niels´s family and eventually Berlin to catch up with some old friends.

On our return on the 4^rd of August we found a little brown bird had nested in our mainsail, other than that Atlanta was whole and happy. Until early September we would stay, my English family and friends would visit, and Niels and I would have time to prepare the boat for the next step of the adventure, sorting out ropes, new life jackets and a storm sail…

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