Still in Portosin

We´re still in the Ria de Muros, in the marina at Portosin. Why? Well, it´s very comfortable here and they have wonderful armchairs in the clubhouse where you can curl up, watch the sunset, or read Yachting World... Ben thinks this is heaven. Plus good internet access, a lovely beach, and hills to climb when you get fed up with the sea (as I did yesterday). It´s tempting just to stay here but the Ria de Arousa is beckoning.

Latest pictures

Here is a selection from La Coruña onwards:


Strange sculpture in La Coruña

Sunrise over the mussel farm in Corme


Empty beach in Camariñas...

...and two mad swimmers (the water was very cold)

Beyond the end of the earth

We have made it past Finisterre to the first of the Rias Bajas (low rias) – we are in the Ria de Muros in a marina at Portosin. It’s a great relief to have passed Finisterre which is notorious for gales and also for fog – probably not at the same time. In the event we had calm from 7.30, when we left Camariñas, until about 11am, and then a good northerly breeze and brilliant sunshine for most of the rest of the day.

We got the cruising chute up for the second time. We experimented with a slightly different rig – not to get too technical, setting it like a foresail instead of flying it right at the front of the boat. This worked reasonably well, but in the course of our experiments we managed to get the spinnaker halyard wrapped several times very tightly around the foresail itself. Once we turned east into the ria, we couldn’t get out all the foresail – quite a good thing in the strengthening wind – and then, having hurtled up the ria at between 6 and 7 knots (at one point we hit 7.8 knots with Ben helming), we got to the shallow bit at the top end of the ria and realised we couldn’t put the foresail away either. The wind was too strong for us to tie it up with sail ties, it wouldn’t roll up because of the tangled spinnaker halyard, and it wouldn’t unroll so we could lower the whole thing. In the end we shot into the marina under a combination of tangled sail-power and engine going astern, tied up to a hammerhead pontoon, and Ben, bless him, went right to the top of the mast in the bosun’s chair to untangle the ropes. After that we squeezed Kalessin into a berth barely big enough for her and Ben had a cup of tea with Spanish brandy and lots of sugar (he said it tasted like hot brandy butter).

Our other technical problem is with our autopilot, which is now refusing to turn the boat to port, having made unpleasant noises for a few days. Sam has dismantled it and can see what the problem is (the little toothed belt comes off the drive) but not why it’s happening. We’ve spoken to Raymarine in the UK who were not very helpful (their stock response is “send it back to us for servicing”), and to Phil, our electronics engineer, who thoughtfully dismantled a slightly different Raymarine tiller pilot to see if he could identify the problem but couldn’t work out an answer either. We may have to buy a new autopilot which will cost us around £400. Our very good friends at Seamark Nunn in Felixstowe, where we buy all our boats (Kalessin used to belong to Mike Nunn, and we’ve also bought a Topper and our Honda outboard motor from them, not to mention thousands of pounds’ worth of other kit) can get us one in two days. Otherwise we have to find a Raymarine agent here with whom we can communicate to see if the problem is actually a £2 washer. Tiller pilots notoriously have quite a short life but they do save a great deal of hard work – after helming all the way for 45 miles yesterday, not to mention mast-climbing etc., we all slept extremely well.


Wednesday 23 August
Windy corner

Today is our third day in Camariñas and we’re going off it a bit. There is a powerful smell of fish wafting across the town – we haven’t identified the source but it smells like a sardine-canning factory. The noise of the wind blowing across the boat is making everyone bad-tempered. The sun came out for a few brilliant hours this afternoon, but now it seems to be clouding over again. And Ben and I have had a row because it transpired that his journal was at least a week behind, although he told me it was up to date.

We were all set to leave this morning, making the most of the early-morning lull in the wind. Unfortunately there was no lull this morning – when we woke at 6am the wind was blowing at 15 to 18 knots in the marina, it was cold, cloudy and of course dark, and we went back to bed. Our next passage is almost 50 miles and we have to get around Cape Finisterre so we wanted good weather. Tomorrow looks quieter, but I’ve now read that thick fogs can form out of nowhere here, if there’s less wind fog is more likely to form, and I really don’t want to be sailing down the Costa da Morte in thick fog either. Oh b*m. I wish we had left on Monday. Or at 10am today.

We met a chap from Essex, who arrived here a year ago in a converted Scottish survey ship, towing a catamaran which had got into trouble out in Biscay. They weren’t even aiming for Camariñas but came in here to get out of a gale. Now he and his partner have three boats, two horses, and an English ice-cream van. There’s no accounting for tastes.

Windy Camariñas

Apologies to you all - the text below duplicates the email I´ve just sent round. I´m on a coin-in-the-slot internet connection with a limited number of coins so I´m running out of time!

Hope to have time to add some pictures on the next update...

We are currently about 20 miles north of Cabo Finisterre, or "the end of the earth" as it was christened when the Romans got here. It´s very windy around here - the wind routinely whips up to a Force 6 or so in the afternoon and any windy patches in the Atlantic just clip this corner of Spain. Fortunately the mornings are quieter. We´re in Camariñas which is a small Spanish town with fairly average facilities - however I dragged Ben and Sam off on a walk this morning (along the memorably named Costa da Morte, or Coast of Death) and we found not only spectacular views but a stunningly beautiful, almost deserted beach. Sadly the water here is almost as cold as Herm in the Channel Islands! but Ben and I both swam briefly.

We spent almost a week in La Coruña which is a great city - see the blog for more. From here we head into the Rias Bajas which are said to offer some of the best cruising in Spain. We will continue to keep you up to date as we go.

Observation: Spanish keyboards are much easier to use than French ones except that you keep putting ñ into everything! This keyboard has a failed "e" though - you have to hit it hard...

La Coruna for real

We've finally made it to La Coruna - see below. Here we are at the Torre de Hercules, the world's oldest working lighthouse

Today’s big excitement has been going to the fuel berth, before our expected departure tomorrow. The fuel berth is still at the old marina around the corner, and you have to go alongside a wall where there isn’t much depth. It’s only about a mile around the corner and we arrived with a brisk westerly wind blowing us away from the pontoons. We were completely unable to see any pumps, so managed to tie up to a vacant pontoon while Sam went off to investigate. Just as well he did, as you have to head straight down a narrow gap between pontoons towards a stone wall, turn at the last moment and secure between the two flights of steps. The marinero was there to fling warps to us, thank goodness. It was a lot of hassle for just over 30 litres of diesel, but much too far to carry a can by arm - our big diesel can must weigh around 35kg when it’s full and I can barely lift it.

We’re negotiating with the boat across the way from us to buy a cruising chute – like a smaller, easier-to-handle spinnaker. We’ve never actually used our spinnaker, which was purchased for racing and used once by the previous owner. Sam, who knows slightly more about spinnakers than I do, feels it would need three or preferably four adults on board to fly it safely. We’ve rigged the ropes a couple of times but didn’t actually raise the sail – once because we arrived at our destination and once because we were 150 miles from anywhere in the middle of Biscay, and were nervous about what might happen if things went wrong. Sam asked the lady on board how long they had been in La Coruña and the answer was “since October”. I think they must like it here.

Friday 18 August
Thank you Imray

Now I know we’re real liveaboards. In Gijón I ordered from Imray the latest edition of the pilot book for Atlantic Spain and Portugal – it was published just after we left. We have the previous edition, but things have changed so much in the past five years that the marina we’re in at the moment isn’t even mentioned in the old edition. I asked Imray to send it to the Marina here to await our arrival, and behold, it is here. Well worth the £48.50 investment (£37.50 for the book and £11 for postage – yes, those are pound signs and not euros). In the old days people used to pick up mail quite commonly, but in these days of blogs and email, getting something sent to you feels like a real adventure.

I have since discovered that you can buy the pilot book from the chandlery across town. Oh well. It’s probably even more expensive. (80 euros, in fact).

Yesterday we had an educational day, visiting the Torre de Hercules – the only lighthouse in the world which has operated non-stop since Roman times – and the Domus, a museum of the human body. Our trip to the Torre was made more dramatic by a lady who slipped and broke her ankle on the last steep spiral stair – we all had to wait until the medicos came and took her away. The view was great, although the huge swell crashing impressively on to the rocks and beaches was rather more daunting. The wind reached 21 knots in the shelter of the marina but apparently there was a 3-metre swell in the open sea, which is big enough to be dangerous (and also rock us at our sheltered mooring). Fortunately the wind has eased today and the swell should die down by tomorrow.

The Domus was really excellent, tying in very well with Ben’s science lessons. It had loads of interactive stuff including pumps squirting red liquid to simulate the heart, machines to measure your height, hand-span, strength, reach and length of femur, and a complete chart of the human genome. It was also very good for our Spanish as you could guess most of it but had to look up key words. Ben is impressed to find his Latin is proving very useful, which I’m sure his Latin teacher with be delighted to hear.

In the evening we went out with Paul and Val from Intemperance to sample some raciones – like tapas, only bigger helpings. Everybody has a bit of everything. It works well with five of you as you can order lots of different dishes and not end up with too much to eat.

Wednesday 16 August
La Coruña

Four months ago I started this blog with an entry called “La Coruña dreaming”. At the time I didn’t know much about La Coruña, except that it was on the north-west tip of Spain and we were quite likely to go there.

Now we’re here and I’ve discovered that, among other things, it’s actually called A Coruña (in the local language, Gallego). It’s a big, elegant port and we plan to spend several days here, relaxing, sightseeing and waiting for the forecast strong winds to pass over. Overnight and this morning we’ve had heavy, cold rain and it’s now moderately windy, but no gales yet. Yesterday we left Viveiro in drizzle and dark grey skies and I was very concerned that the winds might strengthen before we arrived in La Coruña. (Fortunately we had found a wireless internet connection on Monday and I kept Sam awake late checking every weather site I could think of). In fact there was almost no wind all day, the sea was relatively flat, hooray! and the sun came out for the last 15 miles or so. Sixty miles of motoring is distinctly boring, though.

We’re pretty much halfway through our four months away, so here are some facts and figures:

• We’ve covered 1271 (nautical) miles over the ground so far in 243 hours under way, an average of 5.23 knots (nautical miles per hour).
• Because the winds have been so light we’ve only been sailing (without engine) for around a quarter of the time, which is disappointing.
• We’ve been to 35 different places, mostly marinas, for overnight stops, plus a few lunchtime anchorages.
• We’ve been to dozens of different supermarchés, supermercados and other kinds of market, including fish markets, and loads of acastillages (chandleries) although none in Spain so far – it seems the few that exist tend to close during August!
• We’ve seen craft fairs (Camaret and Viveiro), concerts and entertainments (notably in St Peter Port, Vannes and everywhere in Spain), and numerous museums and exhibitions plus a lighthouse in Calais.
• We’ve eaten out in Calais, Boulogne, St Peter Port, Lezardrieux, Treguier, Brest, Camaret, Port la Foret, Lorient, Port Crouesty and Gijon, and we’ve had coffees, beers, ice-creams, chips and chi-chis in numerous other establishments.
• We’ve paid a consistent 20 euros or so a night for marina berths, with the most expensive marina at Trebeurden which jacks its rates up to 30 euros a night in July and August and makes you pay extra for showers! The cheapest, apart from anchoring for free, was a mooring buoy in Sauzon, Belle-Ile, for 11 euros, Le Havre where we couldn’t pay because the marina office was closed, and Viveiro where the capitano winked and only charged us for one night instead of two. The cheapest proper marina rate was in Audierne (17 euros) where we were rafted three deep, couldn’t get to electricity or water and the loos were locked during the brief time we were there – it would have been nice otherwise!
• Food is our other biggest cost with a supermarket trip every three or four days costing about 60 euros, plus bread from bakeries and fresh fruit and veg and occasional fish from markets. We tend to go for supermarkets where we can, because it’s much less exhausting.
• On board we eat cereal or toast for breakfast (we brought some of our favourite coffee from the UK and ran out a couple of weeks ago), local bread, cheese, ham and salads for lunch, and lots of pasta, rice or potatoes with various vegetables for dinner, with sausages, pizza, chicken, occasional fish or steak and (once) rabbit. We’ve boiled whelks, collected and cooked samphire, and picked herbs where we can. Fruit is difficult, as anything not eaten straight away tends to get bruised and inedible.
• We’re on our fourth gas bottle (for cooking) and we’ve probably used 150 litres of diesel (for motoring).
• Ribadeo is the only place we’ve been with no other British boats close by, although there was one anchored out in the ria. In Spain there’s a very varied mixture of non-local yacht nationalities – French, Dutch, British (and Irish), Belgian, German, Danish, Swedish and Norwegian. We’ve seen one Maltese yacht which unfortunately was aground on a sill at the time (in Trebeurden), one Finn, one Italian, one Canadian and a few Swiss boats
  

Swell in Galicia

From Gijon we moved on to Ribadeo and then to Viveiro, where we are now. At Ribadeo we moved out of Asturias and into Galicia, where they have their own language (Gallego), their own culture, and lots of wind. At least, according to the forecast there are gales due this evening, although there's no sign of them at the moment.

The most challenging aspect of sailing here is the swell - huge waves which roll in from the Atlantic and don't necessarily bear any relationship to local wind. Out where it's more than 100 metres deep the swell is quite manageable - Kalessin just rides over it - but closer in, and especially close to headlands, the sea is confused and extremely uncomfortable.

Ribadeo is a pleasant new marina in an attractive ria (drowned river valley) but the marina was only just around the corner from the entrance and around high tide the swell rolled in all the time, especially to the visitors' berths. The problem is not so much the movement as the way it suddenly gets stopped by the mooring warps. The resulting jerk-jerk-swing-swing-jerk woke me at 4am feeling very uncomfortable.

Viveiro is an even newer marina - so new that the pontoons aren't even marked on any of my charts, only in the pilot book. However it's right down at the end of the ria, behind an enormous harbour breakwater and then up a dredged channel, and thank goodness the swell doesn't seem to get in here. We arrived last night and were so lazy we didn't even explore the town - we had dinner on board and then watched King Kong on DVD. Actually we only watched the first half because it is so extremely long.

The supermercado we didn't go to in Viveiro - great still!

Department of Amazing Coincidences: In Gijon we spent two evenings with a really nice couple, Paul and Val Shilling, who are sailing their Sigma 400 Intemperance down to the Canaries to join the Atlantic Race for Cruisers (ARC) in November. Can you believe it, they thought we were more experienced than them, in spite of the fact that the two of them are sailing a huge racing yacht and frequently undertake four- and five-day passages in weather when we would never venture outside a nice, safe marina. Anyway, just before we said goodbye I was telling them the story of Tiare, the yacht I've mentioned before, which Ben and Emma were sailing in Hawaii but sadly had to turn back because Emma was so sick. I know about it because Ben is the brother of my good friend Sally, whom I sing with. Anyway, turned out that Paul and Val already know about Tiare - which was surprising enough - but they actually knew about it because they met Sally at a funeral earlier this year. Val's sister also knows Sally very well!!! It's the old thing about it's only six steps between you and anyone else in the world - but it was an astonishing coincidence.

Ben's favourite aspect of Gijon was the beach, where he finally made good use of his bodyboard. Surfing beaches don't tend to be alongside sheltered harbours for yachts!

The excellent view from the ladies' showers in Gijon

We are here

We've now logged 1,108 miles since leaving Suffolk Yacht Harbour on 18 June.

Viva Espana

Above - Ben raises the Spanish courtesy flag 20 miles off Gijon

Well, we made it across the Bay of Biscay. We left Port Crouesty, just at the edge of the Morbihan near Vannes, at 9am on Saturday morning, and arrived in Gijon in northern Spain, after 280 miles, at 5pm on Monday. It's by far our longest-ever passage, with two nights at sea, and we were blessed with good weather, force 2-4 winds from the north-east and north-west, and no major technical problems. At times the winds were so light that we had to motor, which was not what we expected!

Our thanks to Simon Keeling, our weather-man, who provided us with a personalised forecast and explained that although there were very strong winds off Finisterre we wouldn't be affected by them. Hooray for modern communications. The winds are still there at the moment but it will be at least a week before we get to the Cape.

The Bay of Biscay is quite astonishingly empty. Frankly, if we had set the autopilot after Belle-Ile and gone below, and come on deck again 5 miles outside Gijon, we wouldn't have encountered any problems in avoiding shipping. We saw a few yachts and fishing boats on Saturday - one of which passed within a few hundred yards. On Sunday, we saw a ferry cross about two miles ahead of us at 9.30am and saw nothing else, apart from dolphins, a pod of pilot whales, and a few birds, until about 4pm on Monday.

Solitary ketch 20 miles south of Belle-Ile

My best moment came on the Sunday evening, when we were well past the halfway mark. We were goose-winging (one sail on each side) with the foresail held out with the spinnaker pole and a preventer rigged to stop the mainsail from swinging over (jibing). It's a classic rig for crossing oceans and Kalessin was loving it, although we had to steer by hand as the autohelm couldn't keep the speed up. We had dinner (French shepherd's pie) up on deck, we had Dire Straits on below at full volume, and the sun was shining.

The worst moment was when I woke on Sunday morning - it was cold, grey, and bumpy, I'd had about two hours' sleep, I felt sick, and wanted to go home. Oh well.

Gijon is a big, lively Spanish city and has been a bit of a culture shock for all of us especially as none of speak Spanish. Last night (Tuesday) Sam had a very low moment and seriously wanted to go home. He's feeling better now, I hope. We will press on to La Coruna and see how we feel there.

We have a few minor problems with the boat. We've sorted out one leak into the bilge, but there still seems to be quite a bit of water around. And our holding tank is frankly extremely smelly. I'm on a personal mission to pour water into it and pump through whever we're at sea, to try to clean it out completely, but we may need a rethink of our plumbing. Sam feels Deeply Guilty about the whole thing, so 'nuff said.

Wednesday 2 August
Vannes

Vannes is a medieval city at the head of the Golfe du Morbihan, an amazing inland sea full of rocks, and tides. Once when we had a little 16-foot gaff-rigged trailer-sailer we thought about bringing it here. I can’t remember why we didn’t – perhaps we thought our 4hp Mariner outboard wouldn’t make it against the tidal streams which can run at six or eight knots (7-9mph). Frankly I don’t think our 20hp Volvo would do much against these tides either, but in fact you can usually retreat to the side of the channel and find that the tide slows down, or is even going the other way.

We’re parked next to two sailing school boats who are taking on a load of teenagers today and heading out tomorrow. The skipper of the boat next to us speaks excellent English and had time to spare this afternoon, so he briefed us about some of the best moorings and anchorages out in the Morbihan. I think he must have been a schoolteacher in a previous life, but anyway we are well instructed and very grateful. Fortunately the teenagers are still over-awed and quiet, but we are benefiting from a harbour-side concert by a truly dreadful heavy metal band. I speak as a fully paid-up middle-aged person, of course, but I used to like Black Sabbath once.

Vannes is lovely, and once more I am astonished that on a boat you can drive straight into the middle of a busy city, park in a prime spot, and pay €20 to stay the night. We’re close to the medieval centre and had a good wander around this afternoon. The weather is still wet so half the holiday-makers in Brittany were also here. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to run into someone I know, especially as so many of the tourists are British.

Ben discovered a truly vile snack called chi-chis (above), which I think are extruded lengths of batter, deep fried and dipped in sugar. They look like giant chips and taste like the most disgusting doughnuts you can think of. Ben made some small English child’s day by giving him a chi-chi.

La Trinite-sur-Mer

We’re still in La Trinité after a couple of nights here – having experienced the worst weather we’ve had for quite some time. This must be what was forecast for Saturday! We had a good visit to the megaliths of Carnac on the local Petit Train, which takes you right along the line of several thousand standing stones. On a sunny morning in late July the stones don’t really have too much atmosphere. It would be better to come back on a gloomy day in winter, when you’re allowed to walk among the stones instead of staying behind the fence, and get some feeling of why they might be there. Broadly, no-one knows, although there are some wacky theories about them being used as astronomical graph paper. Ben reckons they were put up to celebrate people’s birthdays.

It poured with rain all yesterday afternoon, which put paid to the engineering work which Sam wanted to do (he needed to empty the cockpit locker and climb into it) and I didn’t get too much washing done either. The wind got gradually stronger and it was quite chilly – having said that we were all still in shorts, so it can’t have been too bad. We spent the afternoon reading and sleeping and by the evening were very grumpy and all wanted to go home. Ben, bless him, managed to set up his laptop as a DVD player in the forepeak so we could all three snuggle in there under our duvets, ignore the wind and rain outside, and watch Bill & Ted’s Bogus Adventure (the one with “How’s it hanging, Death?”). We felt better.

Today it’s very windy – a stall blew down in the market while we were there – so we’re in no hurry to get on. It’s very sheltered here and is probably much worse out at sea. However, the sun has come out again (so I got my washing done) and the wind is forecast to settle down a bit tomorrow. Sam is very chuffed because he has found the source of a leak which was filling the bilges – a bolt had punched a hole in one of the exhaust hoses. La Trinité is a good place for engineering works because it’s filled with specialist yacht suppliers, and he found a Volvo Penta dealer around the corner who has supplied the right kind of pipework to repair the hole. Below, a view of Sam at work in the locker...

I have more pictures but can't upload them from here (internet cafe) ... watch this space!

Sunday 30 July
Racing centre

From Lorient we headed down to Belle-Ile, which is famous for being beautiful and crowded. Instead of the main port of Le Palais (which is described in the pilot book as “like being inside a sardine tin”) we headed for Sauzon, a drying port with visitors’ moorings on the outside. Now Guy is no longer with us, we can pick up moorings without feeling too guilty. Sauzon was indeed very pretty, with wonderful clear light, and a completely flat-bottomed harbour which you can walk right across at low water (and Ben did).

Before dinner we entertained ourselves by constructing a wooden kit intended to show wave motion – when you wind a little handle, boats go up and down and a bird goes round and round (initially it flew backwards, but we managed to correct that). Barny and Mary, if you’re reading this, thank you very much – it provided us with a couple of happy hours.

On the Friday evening we picked up a slightly doubtful weather forecast, which was reinforced the next morning by another one predicting force 6 gusts – not much fun on a fairly exposed anchorage. We also saw a fairly spectacular sunset sky which, on checking in Alan Watts’ “Instant Weather Forecasting” we discovered meant strong winds within 12-15 hours. So early on Saturday, we rushed up to Port Haliguen marina at the very tip of the Quiberon peninsular. No sign of the force 6 there either, but the forecast for Sunday was even worse, with force 6 gusting 7 expected in the morning. The marina was packed with boats overnight, it poured with rain, and there was absolutely no wind at all.

Now we’re in La Trinité sur Mer, said to be one of France’s top race sailing centres. There are some spectacular racing multihulls moored just outside the marina – the sort of thing Ellen MacArthur sails around the world. This is also the home of Philippe Plisson, the photographer who takes amazing pictures of lighthouses with waves breaking over them, and there is a whole gallery full of his photos. La Trinité is full of beach-style cafes and kiss-me-quick hats, which is surprising as there’s no real beach here – the boats must be the attraction. Oh yes, and the wind is getting up – I thought it was supposed to die away?

Tomorrow we plan an educational visit to Carnac, the biggest prehistoric construction in the universe, which is a couple of miles away. With a bit of luck we’ll also be able to connect to the internet and upload this blog.

We’ll be spending a few days in and around the Gulf of Morbihan, the rocky inland sea just round the corner from here, and then we have to make a Big Decision – do we do the jump across Biscay to Spain, or do we press on down the coast of France? Crouesty, just across the Baie de Quiberon, looks like a good jumping-off point so when we get there we’ll need to collect weather info and screw up our courage. It’s about 250 miles from here to Gijon in northern Spain – the longest trip we’ve done in one go before is about 110 (from Holland to Harwich a couple of years ago). Mark can’t make it, alas, so it will be just Sam, me and Ben.

Thursday 27 July
Goodbye Guy

We’re in Lorient, where we have said goodbye to Guy. Today he and Sam caught the train (from Lorient station, which looks just Peterborough station where I have spent many happy hours) to Nantes, where Guy flew back to the UK. Ben and I have spent the day rearranging the boat so that Ben can now use the rear cabin, where Guy was sleeping, and as a result we now have an extraordinarily clean, tidy and usable main cabin. It won’t last. The boat seems very empty and quiet without Guy.

From Port la Foret we spent two days in the Ile de Groix, a rocky island about the size of Alderney. We were lucky to get into the harbour at Port Tudy – although we did hope that Monday lunchtime would be a good time to arrive – and on our first night were in the middle of a raft of five boats. On the second night we had our own finger pontoon which was much more comfortable. The harbour is full of yachts coming and going, fishing boats, RIBs (rigid inflatables, of which there are thousands around here) and vedettes in the outer port, so is not exactly peaceful, but there’s always something to watch. The island is lovely with brightly painted houses, tiny sandy coves and clear, blue water.

From there we made the short hop to the big port of Lorient. Guy was asleep for the crossing and it must be especially strange for him, going to sleep in a harbour on a resort island and waking in the very middle of a French city. Having a shower is particularly odd, as you grab your towel and shampoo and cross a busy main road full of commuter traffic to the shower block across the road, which appears to be one of the few old buildings left in the city. Good showers though, and a quiet and pleasant marina despite the passing traffic.

Lorient spends most of the year being dull and concrete but at the moment is getting ready for the Interceltique, the huge 10-day festival of Celtic culture which starts next week. The Rough Guide to France is very rude about Lorient, saying that the Port de Plaisance is the only bit of colour, and looking at Kalessin with our washing flying I think we were the most colourful thing here.

Yesterday we were approached by a teacher of English who asked if we would be willing to talk to three of his students, so spent a pleasant hour in a café chatting to them. It was nice to talk to someone apart from each other!

My mama tells me that I came to Le Pouldu, which is about 10 miles outside Lorient, when I was just three months old. I looked it up in the French pilot book, to see if we could have sailed there, and it says “Le Pouldu est une veritable aventure”. The entry is difficult, you can only get in an hour before high water if there is no wind and no waves, and it has moving banks of sand, strong currents at springs and not enough water at neaps, and to top it all no room to moor anyway. All in all, I’m quite glad we missed it.