Is it really 2 months and 3000 plus miles since we updated..!!  It seems so and in that time we’ve moved from Europe to Africa to the Caribbean; wilting as the weather grew hotter and hotter...

 We left Porta Naos on Nov 23^rd -2 days before Bee’s birthday- and headed south to Fuerteventura

and a few days later were on our way to Senegal and the port of Dakar. The journey started with big seas and squally conditions and gave us a far too strong a memory of Greenland, leaving us under no illusions that we have not really recovered from the experience, more of that later. We settled down into the familiar pattern of long passages although this was one was frequently interrupted by the appearance of ships moving north or south along the coast. Obvious really once I’d bothered to look at a passage chart and see that we were crossing or running parallel to the route from South Africa and beyond up to Europe. Two incidents stand out from the trip: in the midst of a squall we heaved to and found ourselves surrounded by ships heading north. Visibility was poor; the waves were high and the chances of us being seen were small. I call up on the VHF warning the nearest vessel to our position of our whereabouts. The ship in question is about 3 miles away...the vessel that responds states he is 13 miles away and will steer clear when he is closer...we give up trying to contact and reef rapidly whilst keeping a beady eye on the nearer ship. It passed safely. The other overall impression of the trip is the poor visibility caused by dust particles blown out from the coast and desert. A ship passed us in broad daylight and less than a mile away and we hadn’t seen it until the last moment. In our terms a mile is the last moment as the things are frequently travelling at 20 knots are more so a mile is a frighteningly short 3 minutes to get out of its way. The trip down, apart from too many ships and a lack of wind for the much of the journey, was fairly uneventful.Toots caught her first flying fish of the trip although by now the count is well into double figures and we drew ever closer to Dakar.

Our first sighting proved to be a bit of a shock as it brought to mind the south coast of England, green hills and neat houses. As it happened the last 15 miles or so took hours as we were headed by the wind and the tide set against us.

Made it eventually of course to find a crowded anchorage - 60 or more boats, of which only a couple were not French. Back when France had “owned” Senegal they had set up a sailing club and it was still in existence but obviously now run by the Senegalese. It’s a sort of mixed blessing as it does, undoubtedly, serve as a European enclave, a bit of colonial peace within the country but it also creates or re-enforces the “us and them”. Many of the boats were going no where as the French owners had settled down and found the lifestyle to their liking but from an outsiders point of view we found the anchorage poor; rolly and exposed it easily became uncomfortable. Whilst you can anchor for free, to use the yacht club facilities including the access into the local village you needed to pay 15,000 CFA’s (ceefas) for a week. It sounded a lot but turned out to be19 euros so we forked out. We registered with them and I was given precise instructions and how to get a cab and book in down town. Walking out of the yacht club and into the dust track that passed a road I was struck by the similarities with eighties Goa and found myself in a mêlée of taxi-drivers and prices....Agreed a price and a detour to get some money and eventually found myself outside the Port Police office. The cabbie decided he should come in with me having warned that I should not pay anything as a bribe. I should point out that the pilot book warns that the police will ask for a “present” on completion of formalities and sure enough he did. I declined; he became more persistent and the cabbie grew anxious and suggested I pay up....I declined and with relief (on my part) the policeman threw our passports and papers across the table and I was free to go. The cabbie was very subdued as we left the building and drove quickly away and suddenly became elated, laughing and “high fiving” me repeating my excuses for not paying the police. Customs were no problem as the fee is set at 5000 CFA and no “present” is expected. I really do not do bribes very well and yet it seems to be a way of life here. Talking it over with a variety of other yotties there doesn’t appear to be an easy path to follow although as the initial bribe figure the police suggested was 500 CFA or about 35p they felt I was taking principles a bit far. In defence I would say the guy did up the price to 5000 but it is still very little money. Back to Dakar to find Bee hanging on for life as the wind had got up and the fetch had built up causing Hannah to plunge up and down. It died down of course but returned regularly each day to cause angst. Ashore we wandered the local town, walking along the sand road which we discovered had a tarmac surface lurking underneath 6 inches of sand. A sand we had noticed on deck, covering the leading edge of all lines and halyards, and generally making Hannah look unkempt. We showered ashore, doing our washing at the same time. Used the local internet “café” – an hour for 250 CFA and bought fruit and veg from a local stall for the crossing. The anchorage was really a huge bay and the village we were anchored off-Hann- supported a very active fish market where, each morning a mass of colour would assemble to buy the just landed fish.

The fishermen use pirogues and they vary from a hollowed out tree to large, perhaps 25 feet or more, capable of carrying 8 or 9 people. Very often the crew would be dressed in a bright yellow oilskin jacket which seems incongruous in Senegal but the boats have little shelter and it can be cool and damp overnight. Almost all boats, as with fishermen everywhere, have large outboards and only the smallest one man boats have a single paddle which the guy uses alternate sides to propel himself along. We sometimes found them “anchored” nearby when we awoke – a fire burning gentle in the boat to enable them to make a breakfast drink.

An email from Cooya –an English boat we were meeting up with- warned they would be longing getting there than anticipated and our enthusiasm began to wane. They did arrive one fine morning and it was great to see Mike and Eilean with their newly recruited American crew member, Kaz.  Cooya was built, I think, in 1911 and by now is in Brazil whilst M and E return to Scotland to celebrate significant birthdays with family. We toyed with the idea of heading south to the Lower Saloum with them but in the end decided we’d head off across the Atlantic for Tobago. Mike kindly printed off some grib files, before they left,

which indicated favourable, consistent 20 knot winds and we slipped out of the anchorage at 08.00 on the16 Dec. That night I began to feel a bit shivery and flu like and Bee began to worry.............and worry. It appears that malaria can be confused with flu like symtoms and with 2500 miles to go now was not the time to get it. Whatever it was. So as the route took us close to the Cape Verdes we decided to call in and get a check. Such innocence! Such naivety. Having cleared in, we headed for the hospital. We queued and eventually we were told we needed to pay 1500 escudos to be processed. That’s about €14. Off to the bank we go and then back to the hospital. Waiting and waiting. The hours pass and Bee heads back to the boat as by now the night is only an hour away. Soon after she leaves I’m ushered in through the doors and find myself in another smaller queue and then within half hour I’m seen by the doctor. A quick check and she sends me for a blood test. I wander the corridors and find the clinic and the inevitable queue. 19 people in front of me, mozzies in abundance and suddenly I’m out the door and heading for Hannah. Can’t be bothered to wait – I’ll return tomorrow. Walking down the unlit and unsavoury road that leads to the anchorage a car suddenly screeches to a halt beside me. The window comes down and the guy seems to be offering me a lift. I decline, as I’m only 300 metres from the dock where the dinghy is. He becomes more insistent and pushes open the door demanding that I get in. Throughout he has kept up a torrent of words in various languages and I suddenly realise he’s warning me that the road is very dangerous and should not be walked at night and whether I need it or not I’m getting a lift.

So back to the hospital the following day to find the “overlong” queue of 19 had now reached triple figures and bedlam ruled. The English principle of queuing for your turn was unheard of and we really needed Lucia to show us how to deal with it. But we got there in the end, had my blood test then hung around for the result. Name is called and I’m handed a bit of paper. More discussions and we’re directed back to where the saga began 24 hours earlier... Different doctor this time and because I hadn’t reappeared last night the paperwork had been filed. Asked to wait whilst it was located I couldn’t help but wonder how come all hospitals seem to employ the same colour schemes? Called back in to be told the test were all clear and I didn’t have malaria! Back out on the street to change the excess of escudos back into euros we passed a familiar looking face and acknowledged each other with a smile and realised we “knew” each other from the hours of waiting in the hospital queue. The bank we chose had a queue as well and we joined it. The minutes turned into an hour but we were getting close to the front. We were at the front and now we were at the counter!! “Can we change these escudos into euros?” we asked. The teller consulted someone senior “yes” they could be changed but not by us as we didn’t have an account there.... Back into the street and into a travel agent to ask where we could change money. A phone call produced a man with a fat bum-bag who calculated what we had, gave us what seemed to be the official exchange rate and we were back on the street within minutes.

This time around Praia, the capital of Santiago, seemed far less threatening and we thoroughly enjoyed our brief stay there; the thriving fruit and veg market; the town square when wi-fi is provided free of charge and the enormous mix of races that make up the local population. Evidence is around that investment, of some sort, is happening with the appearance of huge billboards advertising/warning of time share apartments although little sign of work starting as yet. But the second visit proved far more enjoyable than the first even with the health business and should we ever embark on a journey down that neck of the woods would return.

So we set out, having checked the weather, on Dec 22^nd looking for a fast crossing with settled conditions. Hours out of Praia the wind dropped and although we toyed with the idea of returning we were buoyed up by the forecast we seen. Why do we do it? The second day out we managed 31 miles in 24 hours and despite sending out texts to my son Pete and sister Tish to get us some weather info we still went nowhere. Luckily the texts came back with the info moments before we drifted out of range and despite the info the reality was zilch wind but the response from both was appreciated. And then came one of those nonsense moments that really make you question why on earth we do this. Fed up with drifting we decided to head for a tiny anchorage on Brava, one of the western islands of the Cape Verdes. We motor-sailed in 5 knots of wind and about 4 miles from the anchorage the wind picked up and headed us so be began tacking. Still it increased and we thought, “Great-lets turn around and head across” So we did and a couple of miles later the wind died. So we turn again and motor back. The wind picks up. And up. Daylight begins to fade and with the anchorage being very small and unlit we decide, once again, to turn around and cross. A couple of miles later the wind fades and dies.................. We pick a point on the chart some 6 miles away and agree we’ll motor to there to clear the land and some 4 miles out we pick up the wind and we’re away. With a little regret as both Brava and the adjacent Fogo looked interesting places to visit and friends we met on the last trip, Nigel and Jude, left from Brava and loved the place.

Despite the forecast we’d checked we found the winds to be fickle and light. The sailing we had done on this trip had shown us that if conditions were good we would expect to easily cover 130 miles in 24 hours and yet we never managed more than 113 and far too many days were below 100. We seriously questioned what we were doing to the point of dreaming about living on a canal boat and spent hours reading a magazine, comparing prices and dreaming. Some days, of course, were brilliant. Blue skies and a pleasant 4 or 5 knots but more often the sky was grey and overcast and winds light but seas lumpy. For any boat crossing in these conditions life is unpleasant but for a gaffer with heavy spars it becomes a nightmare. Gear gets chafed and one morning I wandered forward to find the jib had “wineglassed” around the outer forestay. Attempts at pulling it down got no-where and we had to devise a safety harness attached to halyard to enable me to inch along the bowsprit so that the sail could be unwound and brought down. We subsequently discovered that the starboard sheet had chafed through. Another time we found the bobstay too loose and I needed to crawl along the bowsprit clutching spanners to tighten everything up. Sat astride the thing, up to my knees in ocean as Hannah rose and fell in her forward motion. Warm seas though. But these were minor incidents compared with what lay ahead. We had been trucking along under main and genny. The genny wasn’t filling properly so I decided to change it for a smaller, steadying sail. Bee went forward, as usual, to make the change as we rolled along under lumpy seas but light winds. Bee must have made a 1000 sail changes so is used to the foredeck and how sails and halyards work. Except this time. Releasing the halyard she began heaving the genny down and suddenly found herself on her knees as the block came down very quickly and, as Hannah rolled to the swell, gathered momentum and smashed into her forehead. She called out and I looked up to see her crouched on the foredeck, blood streaming down her face, her t-shirt rapidly changing colour and the deck and sails with blood on them. Rushing forward I was horrified at the damage, Bee was more horrified that I’d come forward without anything to staunch the flow and sent me scuttling aft for a cloth. “It looks worse than it is” she informed me whilst continuing to gather in the sail and true to form once we’d cleaned up the mess, found a self igniting ice-pack to calm down the bruising and got a couple of Ibuprofen down her she claimed to be ok. However her head still bears the scar, the sails still carry the stains and I don’t think I am ever going to forget the moments of fear I felt when I saw her kneeling there with blood everywhere.

Eventually, of course, all journeys end and on Wed 16 Jan we crept into Man O’ War Bay, Charlotteville, Tobago some 25 days after we left Praia. To our immense surprise and joy Pete and Lucia were still there although they had begun to worry a little at our non appearance. They’d arrived in the early hours of Christmas day and had had a relaxing time. Tobago is a wonderful island although a week was enough for us. Charlotteville is a small village that has a thriving fishing community but has also become more tourist orientated. Small houses dot the heavily tree covered slopes and walking anywhere involves serious effort. The capital is Scarborough about 25 miles away at the other end of the island. You catch an infrequent bus or a more regular maxi-taxi. We caught the latter and spent the journey being serenaded by a gospel tape. On a loop. As Bee said the sad thing was that the other passengers knew the all the words. The journey back was the opposite. A young driver who could only drive with his foot hard down, engine screaming and racing up behind the vehicle in front before recklessly overtaking or slamming his foot on the brake. And those he did overtake would in turn pass us as he regularly pulled over to the numerous roadside stands to pick up roti or beers or whatever else his passengers might require. And the music..........loud, repetitive and featuring “Party Animal” the track that seems to have taken over the airwaves and is played relentlessly, frequently repeated. But Charlotteville offered swimming and clear water. So Bee snorkelling around suddenly calls across to me (but quietly) “I can see money-how deep are we”?)Too deep for either of us she swam across to Pete and Lucia to recruit them. Two dives later we had US$80 between the two boats! And we later found a French guy who had found another $20. Unfortunately the water clarity deteriorated after that and no further treasure was found. Tobago has also been a useful source of kero for us as it is sold loose and, like diesel, costs a mere TT$1.50 per litre. We exchanged the euros we got in Praia for TT$ and got 8.60 per Euro so fuel works out around 11p per litre. Think it was about 90p a litre when we left Southampton..  In the end though we were glad to leave as a swell rolled through the anchorage and sleep became difficult.

Although we hadn’t intended to we ended up sailing down to Trinidad' partly to liaise with Pete and Lucia, here to collect an American visa and partly to catch up with Steve and Lyn plus Katie. They had left Southampton the year before a trip to Denmark so it would be 6 years since we had seen them. AND Katie being a new addition it would be good to see them. We booked in at Chagoramas before moving round the corner to a quieter, music excepted, anchorage and met up with the crew off “Fair Grace” Expect them to figure a lot over the next few months as they had, independently, decided on a very similar route to us and as we get on so well will probably cruise together for much of the time. The anchorage is free but access to the shore, via the yacht club costs so we opted to leave the dinghy on the beach or tied up at a night club when we took to land. We replaced the toilet pump- a problem that had plagued us for the last week leaking despite everything we tried- and briefly caught up with Steve who was still at work. Lyn and Kate were down the town so we opted to return the following day. A shout of “Hannah” from a fast moving rib the next morning alerted us to the visit of Lyn and a very shy Katie and we spent an hour catching up, repeated the following day when we visited Melika (their boat) and met all three of them. Their saga continues still but they’re beginning to see an end in sight and hope to set off on their interrupted journey.

Fair Grace (FG) and Hannah left the anchorage for a couple of days cruising amongst the islands, spending the first night in Turtle Bay on Monos. Few people live there but the shoreline has, perhaps, 7 or 8 summer homes around the bay. Very quiet and a lovely anchorage. The following day we headed further west toward Venezuela and anchored at Chacachacare Island. The island had been used as a leper colony for well over a hundred years and it was only in the late 1960’s that it ceased to function as one as the cure for leprosy found its way there. A fascinating place; many houses are still standing-particularly the ones where the nuns slept. All the houses have been vandalised but many are simply falling apart as the jungle overwhelms them. The hospital pharmacy had phials of something in abundance, hospital records lay strewn across the floor and the hospital itself had metal bed frames lying around. All in all a sad if thought provoking place and, for the most part, a silent anchorage. Local boats do come there bringing holiday-makers. Some bring huge speaker systems too.....!!

But we’re back in Chag. waiting for a favourable wind to take us north to Grenada and further up the chain and preferably before the carnival starts in a few days!!