and now…………………..the fish …………………by Colin

The experience of SDC was indeed a mixture of the very auspicious intertwined with the mundane and very commercial. With the hard coast of North West Spain behind us and with the words of the Royal Cruising Club Pilot foremost in our minds – the whole feeling of Galicia changes as one enters the warmer, softer rias with the immense sense of increased shelter, temperature, tourism and prosperity. We feel that before we go further into this promised land of milk and honey we should pause and spare a passing thought for those lost during our rounding of the coast du Morte.

local delicacy – recycled on the BBQ

These 2 are a local delicacy in the harsh North. They were served to us after a long awaited paella in a local sailing club restaurant. There is something worrying about a fish served with its head still on and therefore staring up at you from the plate – but eating its own tail as well! Anyway they tasted good re-heated on our BBQ the following day.

This chap and a number of prawn co-conspirators where found in a local store. Actually when we got the lobster back to the boat we discovered that he was an immigrant – all the way from the US. However, by this time his fate was already decided.

In terms of the more mundane we have now almost grown accustomed to the ever present flies and have put defensive measures in place. First we have fly screens for all the hatches and even one for the main hatch. Should that fail we have been using kinetic techniques. The fly swat has just had its 500th success and is now due a campaign medal.

Trained Killer?

However, we have to confess (but not in SDC) that we have now engaged in chemical warfare. This seems more effective but is less satisfying to the crew of Resolute! The fly swat is now reserved for the latest inconvenience which arrived unannounced during our first night in the Rias. The mosquitos, which took great chunks out of Gill’s face and my right arm and both legs, are as tenacious as they are large. Three were caught the following morning and summary justice was exercised by Gill using kinetic energy. I favour more chemicals as, if employed in the late evening, this is offensive and preventative rather than defensive and purely reactionary! Gill’s very graphical description that included an analysis of the origins of the blood splatters created by the offending beast is perhaps best not repeated either here or in SDC.

A few words about loaves, fishes and the five thousand (minimum).

The grim reality of it dawned slowly…….at every turn we were thwarted….eventually something serious had to be done….the only answer was dough!  Let me explain.  In these beautiful Rias we have been trying to take full advantage of the scenery and opportunity and find some beautiful and plentiful anchorages.(Anchorages will be few and far between along the Portuguese coast from all reports).  This in turn means we need to stock up our food and drink supplies in the local supermarkets whenever we are in a marina.  We have relied upon a supply of part-baked bread as the baguette-type breads available, whilst delicious on day one were inedible even wetted and warmed by day two/three.  But to our dismay we had not been able to find any of the part-baked variety at all….so the only answer was to make our own.  I had come prepared, so Paul Hollywood came out of the locker and the task was attempted with his guidance…with some success I might add.

As if this wasn’t exciting enough, we finally executed our long-held plan to visit Santiago de Compestella whilst we were moored only and hour away in Portosin. We had made enquiries and were told that a bus could be caught in Portosin village to the local town of Noia where another bus could be caught to Santiago. A plan. We were given a bus timetable of sorts….timings sure enough but written in big letters at the bottom and reiterated by the harbour staff was that ‘all bus timings were approximations only’. Another approximation was where the bus actually stopped. Outside the bank we were told…but on arrival at (thankfully) the only bank there was no bus stop or anything to say a bus might decide to stop there….but heartened by other souls loitering on the pavement we waited and sure enough along trundled the bus. After our forecast change in Noia we arrived in a big city…..but all modern concrete and steel….no sign of the ancient magnificence we had understood to be awaiting us. Eventually we found ourselves and set off on the sizzling pavements to the ‘zone monumental’. And there it all was in all its glory! Magnificent buildings, especially the Cathedral, built to the Glory of God and SanDiago (St. James) in particular…what would he have thought I wonder? Having helped bring Christianity here to Galicia, James came to a very sticky end back in Jerusalem but somehow according to legend, his remains turned up back in Galicia where a token memorial was erected back in the 9th century followed by a superb cathedral a few centuries later and the whole place became, and still remains a place of pilgrimage for Catholic followers. But there was a big fly in the holy ointment….in fact a huge swarm of them. Not only had this become a place of pilgrimage it has become a massive place of tacky consumerism and exploitation of the masses. Somehow, naively, we had not been prepared for just how tacky and just how huge the masses. Inside the Cathedral there were long queues for those who wished to pay to go behind the alter and embrace and kiss the golden figure of St James. There were souvenir stalls just outside the Cathedral selling everything and anything and even figures dressed as monks with whom one could have a photo taken (at a price). The same could be had with a mermaid…..a mystery as to where she fitted in to the whole scenario but punters were still to be had! The same was true of the inevitable tourist train which plied its way incongruously through the cobbled streets and alleyways. This whole razamataz left us feeling rather sickened and detracted from the incredible monuments and buildings. Such an unexpected shame. Nevertheless, my abiding memory of the place was the sound of the wooden staffs carried by the pilgrims of today on the cobblestones as they toiled their last few dedicated miles to the Cathedral…the same grandiose architecture and intricate sculptures outside and the opulent gilded alter inside that had awed pilgrims for centuries.

the ‘monk’.

The Cathedral

The tourist train..pl..eease!

The gilded alter piece with St James taking centre stage

La Coruna and the Cape of Death!

View from our anchorage in Corme

The rugged coastline of the Cap de Morte

Sunset at Corme

Ever since we planned this escapade my (Gilly’s) personal goal has been to get south from Norway and across the Bay of Biscay to La Coruna, Spain.  Colin had done all this previously with crews of adventure training soldiers of course and has even done the Atlantic backwards from St. John’s, Newfoundland to Cornwall but for Gilly getting to La Coruna would indeed be a life-altering, proper sailing achievement and the practical and psychological build up to that moment has been immense.  So how was it that so soon after our momentous arrival, just as the bubbles in our Cava dispersed so did our sense of achievement? We sat in the sunshine in the cockpit of Resolute and looked along the ensigns adorning the sterns of our neighbours boats….from almost every European country and beyond on boats of all shapes and sizes and type…some much smaller than us and OK some much bigger too (some obscenely so).  We felt one of oh so many explorers, not one of a kind, but one of a crowd.

However, La Coruna itself did not fail to disappoint.  Upon the insistence  of a wonderfully hospitable British couple we were taken to Tapas in Town before we could dwell too much on our lack of achievement.  We passed through the overstated city square with its galleried facades down little medieval crumbling alley ways lined with restaurants where one felt the same fare had been served for centuries….and we tapas’d and Rioje’d late into the night amongst the throng of Spanish fellow diners.  An aside at this juncture, for all those of you who may be concerned with all this food and drink inspired rhetoric about our longstanding waistline problems…..it is a truth universally known that all boats are moored in harbours at water level and that therefore (bear with me…) all shops, attractions, towns etc will be an upward hike…thus, we hope and trust, nullifying any excesses eaten or imbibed. La Coruna did not disappoint in this regard….a fact which did not allude Colin when, in the heat of midday we achieved the dizzy heights of the town square only to find he had forgotten his wallet and had to go back down to fetch it.  Thus the Harbour Waistline Ratio Philosophy was proven twice in one day and a second Cointreau could be had that night!

After several edifying days in La Coruna we could feel the tug to enjoy some splendid isolation once again and we found some 35 miles further round the appallingly-named Cot de Morte at an anchorage near the little village of Corme. We chilled only a little way off a beautiful stretch of sandy beach and turquoise water and the next day with much regret we headed around the coast further to another anchorage off Camarinas…a quaint fishing harbour placed in a sheltered bay at a river mouth with cloud covered lush treed hills on the banks.  We are now in the small marina at Camarinas and the town is pretty unspoilt by the influx of yachties much like us heading south down this coast.  The claim to fame here is the lace which is being made literally in the streets as it has been for ever it seems.

The actual sailing around this rugged unforgiving coast is worth a mention.  I don’t want you to forget that we are not bussed from one idyll to another with no effort or girding of loins required!  The main characteristic of these waters and I gather all Atantic waters is the sometimes massive swell.  With the wind nearly always from the North and therefore from behind Resolute rides up on the swell which whooshes noisily underneath her and deposits us seamlessly on the other side…but the whole action takes some getting used to.  I suspect some expectation management is required for the inexperienced crew-girl who feels most at home in the Solent chop.

We are beginning to encounter some familiar yachts and faces along the way now…those like us heading south, some of whom display their Atlantic Rally flags with brazon abandon to shout their intentions to all (ours has remained resolutely in the locker!). The French however are in retreat (shame on you for even thinking that ’twas ever thus!).  Their long summer sojourn in Spain is coming to an end and they are beating back north and home very much against the flow. Only the hardy few remain.

So now we are planning next week and hope to carry on south to explore the other Rias the first of which will be Ria Muros where we will tie up in Portison harbour as we understand from there one can get a couple of local buses to Santiago de Compostela (trains best avoided for obvious reasons just at the moment).

La Coruna square

Like true pilgrims (bit of a stretch there!) we feel we can’t pass by so close without pausing there.  Watch this space!

More…

Alongside the wall at Castro Urdales

Gilly at the helm sipping lemonade (honest!)

Skipper relaxing on the foredeck

Up the ria to Ribedeo

Castro Urdales

Cudillero

Gijon

How to sum up this past week on the Northern coast of Spain?  I think MORE encapsulates it pretty well:  more gorgeous Spanish harbours ( Gijon and Cudillero in particular) now being seriously rivalled by the 2 rias (rivers) we have sampled – Ribedeo and Vivero.  More Spanish history, culture and vocabulary to learn; more water successfully made by the new water-maker; more sunshine and more rain…which combined makes this region live up to its name as the Costa Verde; more engine hours..much to Colin’s dismay…as less wind. More delicious sardines and seafood; more Sangria and wine; time for more reading, swimming, exploring and siestas!