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The nights draw in
quickly now and darkness is complete by 8pm. The river is usually quiet,
cicadas aside and we settle down to an evening meal, a litre of wine and a
meandering chat about where we will go. Actually we have finally made up
our minds and we’ll come to
that in due course. OK first the moans
which this month are not about the weather but about a place. We left you
in a town called Olheo. It’s a small Portuguese fishing town, bit of
tourism but not much going on. They have begun to build a marina which
because the towns sewers flow freely into the harbour they are unable to
finish. It’s big draw is that yotties can moor for free but need to
dinghy ashore or to the next pontoon which has access to the shore. But
there the plusses end as the stench at low water is unbelievable and the
damage the contaminated water does to warps and anti foul needs to be
seen. It is without doubt one of the worst places to go and seemingly
could not get any worse. Until the day we took the dinghy in from the
nearby anchorage of Colatra. We passed
a small Police launch heading in the opposite direction and waved a
greeting. They responded and then turned around and flagged us down. The
following conversation took place. P: Why do we not have
a name on the dinghy? It is compulsory The upshot was we
were unable to prove it was our dinghy, had no safety devices on board and
at the end of the “interview” they simply let us go. Such a pointless
exercise, proving nothing, other than to re-enforce the already widely
held view that the police in this part of Portugal are working extremely
hard to ensure yotties stay away. But eventually we
sailed away and headed for the Guadiana. As ever the pilot books make the
entrance sound like the gateway to Hades and, as usual, we were late for
the optimum time but we roared across the bar under main, genny and
staysail and cruised into the river we had heard so much about. Instant
shelter of course as we sailed on calm waters, Portugal on the left, Spain
on the right and we dropped anchor off the Portuguese town, Villa Real. A
few boats around, plus ferries moving regularly between the two towns,
Villa Real and Ayomonte. The river runs hard here so a wind over tide
situation that night had all the anchored boats racing around their
anchors, accelerating to the full scope of chain laid out before changing
direction or going astern. Luckily everyone had enough distance between
boats so whilst it seemed spectacular there was little chance of damage. Over the next few
days we slowly sailed up river under main alone, anchoring as our fancy
took us before fetching up near a couple of other gaffers near the towns
of Alcoutim (Port) and San Lucar (Esp)
Alcoutim, looking toward Spain At one point there
were 5 ferro boats on the river
that we knew of and 3 were built by the same man, mick the brick. Of
course we met more people who knew Hannah or knew martin and Roma or knew
friends who knew them and we have, in turn, met up with yotties we have
seen in Northern Spain, including a French/German couple, Heinko and
Dominique, who hailed us from the bank, having spotted us as they drove
by. Cruising up river is a feast for dreamers as abandoned houses, fincas,
are everywhere. Imagine the River Dart, brown hills of course not green
but a great sweep of water that meanders through hills, eucalyptus and
mint, bamboo and sheep seem to be everywhere. And here and there are these
wonderful houses. Often without roofs, perhaps two rooms and a bit of
scrubby land but all, without exception, sat on a rise over looking the
river. Who could not be captivated and dream………… As ever we are
probably ten years too late. It seems that most of the sympathetically
restored fincas have been done by North Europeans and that like
much of Europe house prices have risen dramatically. We were told of a
barn, nice looking building despite the asbestos
roof that had, for generations, housed either cattle or pigs and
was now up for sale. The price quoted was £80,000. Similarly, houses,
long since abandoned and now roofless, were being touted for £30-£40K.
Even with restored houses the local population, of course, cannot see the
attraction of living in such primitive conditions, energy from solar
panels, living, mostly, off the land, without car or television, often
with only a donkey track or the river as a means of getting from home to
town and back. But for
yotties of course the prospect of a home on the river with your boat
moored in the river below is an enticing prospect. We passed a number of
boats at anchor whilst owners lounged, drink in hand, on a shady terrace
watching the irregular procession of boats heading up river.
A Place to retire to.......? There is, anchored some 200 metres
away, the most wonderful pilot cutter. Ferro of course, built by mick the
brick for himself . We went aboard and were instantly smitten. Bee by the
size, me by the rig (schooner) but both of us by the character. On board
this 50 foot, 23 ton beauty are 5 adults and 5 children split across 2
families and an additional crew member. The kids range from 18 month to 9
years and the whole shebang is bound for Oz via the Panama, Cap Verdes and
the Canaries. Hopefully we’ll sail some of the way with them and get
shots of them under sail. At one point Bee decided we would buy the boat
from them once they had reached Oz but we’ve put that on the “sometime
in the future pile” as we concentrate on the job ahead. The boat is one
large saloon with a cabin at each end, imaginative use of wood, no toilet
and an enormous tiller. Hannah looks frail beside er but I’m sure will
hold her own.
The wonderful “Lilly Bolero” We have hummed and
chuntered to ourselves and anyone who listened about what we will do this
winter. Sometimes we thought of mooring up, renting a car and seeing the
interior or hinterland as someone said today. But we have finally made the
decision and will head across to Cuba and then onto the States, Greenland
etc. ‘course we intend to add other bits into the equation, mebbe hire a
camper van in the States, and the journey isn’t as straightforward as
the proceeding sentence makes out but essentially that’s the idea for
the next 12 months. We had thought of
offering a berth to anyone who fancied the crossing, no smokers, veggie
food and several weeks of unlimited views of the sea but we doubted anyone
would be willing to give up their freedom for such a period. But….?
Dream on, a finca and your own boat at the bottom of the garden……….
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