2020 - Pandemic cruise

Vigo - La Restinga

Vaccinated and armed with Covid passports, we set off for Spain. Although Porto would be closer for us, we decided to minimize the number of borders crossed and flew to Madrid. 

Since we had plenty of time before our bus was leaving, we took a stroll around the city, grabbed some tapas, and in the evening set off for Santiago de Compostela. We arrived there early in the morning, and since we had the whole day to reach Vigo, we decided to explore it. Unfortunately, it turned out that the famous sanctuary had decided to take advantage of the reduced tourist traffic and was closed for renovations, so we could only admire the famous church from the outside. 

Before we relaunched the Stubborn, Kamil had to fix an oil leak from the engine. All the seals on the shaft needed to be replaced. We’d bought them home and brought in our luggage. Two days in grease up to the ears, but the engine regained its efficiency. 

The new acquaintance made our stay more enjoyable - a friendly pair of Israeli citizens (originally a Russian woman and a Ukrainian man) who moved to Spain because of the climate. They shared with us their experiences of living and sailing in this country. The conversation was a quirky mix of Russian and English with some Hebrew words, but somehow we all understood each other. Finally, the yacht was ready to continue the journey.

If possible, we always try to spend a bit of time at anchor at the beginning of the cruise to be safe but still rock a little. This way, we usually manage to avoid serious seasickness. This time we did the same - our first stop was at Punta Subrido, a beautiful beach on the northern edge of Ria Vigo. Golden sand, something for Kama. 

We have overinflated our inflatable boat and left it on the beach. When It got too hot and burst at the seam. Fortunately, not on the outside, only the bottom became round instead of flat, and the boat served us for many more years.

After some time using the electric autopilot, it was clear how helpful it was. However, at night or on a cloudy day, it consumes too much energy from the battery. Earlier, we learned about the existence of wind vane autopilots and got interested in them before this stage of the voyage. Unfortunately, it is an expense of several thousand euros. Happily Kamil has found a very helpful book "Wind-Vane, Self-Steering, How to plan and make your own" by Bill Belcher, which shows types of autopilots but also discusses how to calculate the size of elements relative to the size and mass of the yacht, along with examples of making such from wood. 

Kamil decided to build it from stainless steel profiles, using screws for connections, so it could be sent in a package to Vigo (along with other items for this stage of the voyage). This required limiting the weight of the construction, and finally, it turned out to be quite delicate (the second time, everything should be enlarged by one and a half times). It will later prove that it took our yacht quite far without major failures, and thanks to the foldable construction, we could always repair it on the water. A description, assembly drawings, and recordings of the work of our autopilot can be found here: Autopilot.

Kamil assembled our self-steering system in stages during the journey from Vigo to Gibraltar. Among other things, it was necessary to carve the rudder blade that works in the water from thick, hard, waterproof plywood, using a chisel, hammer, and file. Its profile had to be refined by seeing how it behaves in the water.

Finally, the autopilot was ready and working just before setting off to the Canary Islands. It's amazing how well it kept course with the yacht in different wind conditions, varying wind strengths, and even in waves. Exactly as specified in the calculations provided in the book. There was no need for any significant adjustments. It greatly facilitated our journey to Lanzarote, guiding the yacht most of the time and requiring only trimming every few hours with changes in wind strength or direction. When the wind strengthened and strong gusts appeared, and the waves were steep enough that we were afraid of plunging the bow into the water while descending, we took over manual steering. We do not know how tired we would have been if this mechanical crew member had not taken over steering for the remaining time.

Due to the pandemic situation, we visited ports much less frequently than usual. This allowed us to practice non-stop sailing a bit before heading across the ocean to the Canaries. As every year, we practice navigation with a sextant to be able to find our position in case of electronics failure or lack of power.

It is worth mentioning here that the beautifully looking brass sextants in wooden boxes, sold on eBay as "navigation instruments," are completely unsuitable for this purpose (unless they are indeed old sextants, but those are quite expensive). We bought a medium-priced model, and it turned out that nothing could be seen through the telescope because it had shutters and a mirror mounted in the wrong place. After cutting and soldering the components ourselves, it worked somewhat, but the navigation precision was poor. Only a "decent" plastic sextant at an affordable price (although it is not priced as a toy) allows for navigation accurately enough  to not miss a small island.

Directly from Punta Subrido, we jumped to Porto and docked in the Marina Lexioes. We had already seen the city on a previous visit, and the COVID restrictions effectively discouraged us from sightseeing, so we immediately headed onward to the much smaller, quieter, and very beach-oriented Figueira de Foz, and then to Peniche, famous among European surfers. Unfortunately, we didn't have the opportunity to try this sport. The waves that delight surf enthusiasts are not nice or safe for a yacht at anchor. For this reason, we always anchor rather far from the good surfing spots. Additionally, a fish processing plant is located near the anchorage. When the wind drops, a specific smell spreads over the anchorage (although, fortunately, the lack of wind is not too common there). All these factors hasten our transfer to Cascais. There we replenish supplies and laze around for a day on the city beach. Kamil buys truly exotic drinks in hollowed-out pineapples for the whole family.

Upon leaving the anchorage, we encounter fog, which surprises us in these warm waters. Visibility is about half a mile, and the area is busy. Actually, on this route, we have often encountered rather sudden weather phenomena (including strong evening breezes and frequent fog with wind from the sea). The wind could quickly change its strength and direction by even 180 degrees.

Next, we move on to Sesimbra and Sines - the city where Vasco da Gama was born. 

With a favorable wind, we jump just past the "corner" of Portugal and anchor in the cove behind Cabo Sao Vincente. We arrive after midnight, and a storm breaks out. The strong wind, which bounces off the rock walls, changes directions and repeatedly breaks us off the anchor. We circle and search for a place to settle. Finally, we manage, but even though we are tired, we do not sleep well - constantly checking the AIS to ensure the boat is stationary and not drifting towards the rocks. 

The next day, we quickly escape from that place and stop in charming Portimao. In the evening, we head to a tavern to celebrate Kamil's name day and the fact that we managed to sail so far. A friendly waiter explains to us that what we wanted to order would be enough for ten people and encourages us to choose one of the three fish we had our eyes on - he is absolutely right - as it turns out, rosefish is a collective name for some different species - what lands on our table is some giant toothed monster, several times larger than the specimens found in our fish shop.

While we are feasting, our yacht begins to drift. Luckily, some sailors standing nearby notice and secure our boat. This is the first time the river tides entangle the anchor with the chain (of which we were unaware at the time). We are very grateful to them.

Besides the polite locals and caring neighbours, Portimao also has a wonderful beach. The golden sand surrounded by red and yellow striped cliffs invites lounging and building sandcastles. 

In hindsight, we regret not staying there longer, but we knew we still had a long way ahead, and a sailor must catch the good wind while it's there, otherwise they may get stuck for a long time.

From the hospitable Portimao, we move again to Spain, to the port of Barbate. Here, we do a large laundry, replenish supplies, including buying cabbage for pickling, and wait for good weather.

Sailing conditions in the Strait of Gibraltar are not easy. There is a strong current there that replenishes the evaporated water in the Mediterranean Sea. The mountains on both shores form a funnel with strong winds. Whenever the wind meets the opposing current, unpleasant, sharp waves are formed. There are also tidal currents to consider when planning the crossing. We spend two days wandering around the city and waiting until the wind is favorable enough to venture out. In this direction, it's easier due to the prevailing current.

We set off early in the morning, and the sail is quite stressful. We must be cautious not only of the wind and waves but also of traffic—the Strait of Gibraltar is 14 km wide at its narrowest point, and about 10% of the world's maritime traffic passes through it. Additionally, there are fishing boats, yachts, human traffickers, or illegal migrants themselves trying to reach Europe—the last two categories are especially dangerous because, for obvious reasons, they try to be as inconspicuous as possible—they are not on AIS and sail unlit at night. 

After thirteen hours, we manage to successfully dock in the port with a view of the Rock of Gibraltar. The next morning, we cook cassava root for breakfast - supposedly it provides long-lasting energy - and set off to explore the famous rock. 

We book an organized tour - a guide leads us through rock caves that have served the inhabitants for defense for centuries. There is a theory that this was the last bastion of Neanderthals before they were absorbed by Homo sapiens. Later, the natural caves and tunnels repeatedly served as a defensive point. Recently, during World War II, a hospital, among other things, was located in the natural caves, and currently, there is a concert hall with excellent acoustics.

We also passed through hollow tunnels that served the British military in the defense of the strait.

The Rock of Gibraltar is one of the Pillars of Hercules – it once marked the boundaries of the known world and safe navigation. In the photo, a monument – on one side how the ancient Europeans saw the world, and on the other how we see it today.

However, the monkeys turned out to be the biggest attraction.

Most guides illegally (in violation of COVID regulations) carry peanuts and give them to "their" tourists to lure young monkeys for photos, just like before the pandemic. However, our guide was extremely law-abiding and did not have any peanuts, and the clever animals knew we had nothing interesting to offer, so they didn't come close. 

At the end of the tour, it turned out that those interested could stay and stroll through the reserve. We took advantage of this opportunity. We decided to return to the top and take another look at the monkeys. 

It's hard to say whether it was the magical effect of cassava or the prospect of meeting the monkeys, but our almost four-year-old child, regardless of the heat, marched two and a half kilometers steeply uphill with a smile. At the macaque feeding point, we could freely watch these very tame monkeys. 

Finally, a large male remembered his younger years when he would sit on tourists, and he climbed onto Kamil's shoulders. The sizable monkey settled comfortably, grabbed Kamil by the head, and admired the world from a height without even expecting peanuts as a reward. We wondered what to do about it, but fortunately, the macaque got bored and left.

It's good it ended that way because, although these monkeys are generally quite peaceful, they can be aggressive when angered. We saw a young male monkey start to open a tourist's backpack. The boy zipped it up but continued to sit in the same spot, and they started playing like that - the monkey would open the bag, and he would close it. At one point, however, the macaque decisively snatched the pack of tissues. The owner was afraid the monkey would eat them, took the tissues, closed the backpack, and moved it away. The angry male bared his dog-like teeth,  and bit the tourist until he drew blood. There was no need for stitching, but the situation looked unpleasant. 

Next, we visit the Castle of the Moors and return to the city. On the way to the port, we have one more surprise waiting for us. Although Gibraltar is small, it has an international airport, but the runway runs across one of the main streets of the city. When a plane is about to take off, the road is closed with barriers, similar to a railway crossing in our country. After takeoff, cars and pedestrians can continue to use the route. 

After three days in Gibraltar, we set off for Ceuta. The distance is just under 8 miles, but one must be very careful on this route as it crosses an extremely busy shipping lane. The journey went smoothly, and by early evening, we found ourselves on the African continent, although administratively in Spain. As early as 500 BC, this strategically located area was settled by the Phoenicians and changed hands many times since.

Ceuta it is a true melting pot where European and Arab influences mix. The city is very beautiful architecturally, with a lot of white stone and greenery, and we walk through it with pleasure and might have stayed longer if not for the fact that more or less suitable weather is forecast for our "big jump," - the voyage to the Canary Islands. Actually the weather is less than more "suitable," but in the year of COVID, when ports are closing, and we have a confirmed open harbour and acceptable weather, we set off...

Normally, one can sail along the African coast and start the ‘jump’ to the Canary Islands from one of the Moroccan ports. However, due to COVID, Morocco was already completely closed, so we had to sail directly to the islands. Therefore, we had to consider the weather about a week ahead.

On the first day, we needed a westerly wind. It would have been difficult to exit the strait otherwise. The current of the strait flows towards the Mediterranean Sea, replenishing the large amount of evaporated water. However, a too strong wind blowing against the current would cause a steep wave. On July 31 at 9:00 am, we set off. The wave is quite large but "in line" with the wind direction and the prevailing tidal current towards the Atlantic, making it not so unpleasant. The wind is not completely westerly, so we have to tack a bit in the strait. Kama is mostly sitting inside, but we are both on deck—sailing between the African shore and the shipping lane—in a strip about 5 miles wide.

The strait began to widen, so we started to move away from the ship traffic heading south. That time the wind blowing against the current is building an unpleasant, sharp wave. Monitoring the traffic, unpleasant swaying, constantly manually controlling the yacht,  we barely glanced at the map. At some point, the wave became too steep and too big, and the Stubborn was almost impossible to handle. Kamil immediately went on a reverse course and turned on the engine. A closer look at the electronic map made us realize that we were 100m from grounding in high wave conditions. When we later analyzed the entire crossing from Gibraltar to the Canaries, this moment barely remained in memory amid all the hardships. However, in our opinion, it was the most dangerous situation of this year's cruise.

Before night fell, we were already far from the strait. The wind began to increase, and we were sailing on the starboard tack heading west. With heavily reefed sails, the yacht was speeding at its borderline speed, and foam rolled on the deck. It was incredibly stable, although every 15-30 minutes or so, we needed to slightly adjust the wind vane or sails trim. The main sail worked practically fanning to prevent the yacht from heeling too much (it was safer than lowering it in this situation, and it was important to maintain an acute angle to the wind). Kamil watched the yacht with some fear in these conditions, not having his hand constantly on the tiller. Such a situation once led to a burnt-out engine in the electric autopilot in Norway after a few minutes of operation. However, the windvane performed excellently. Zuza tried to sleep inside but  the yacht sounded as she was about to break into pieces. She said nothing; we talked about it in the morning. Fortunately, by morning the wind calmed down for about two hours, allowing Zuza to take over the watch and Kamil to rest a bit.

According to earlier forecasts, the wind was expected to weaken somewhat further along the route. It is always strong in this area because the prevailing Atlantic high meets the Atlas Mountains. Unfortunately, later we heard on the radio how forecasts predict a deepening low over Africa and even stronger winds. Luckily, we managed to drop the mainsail and reef the jib. The rest of the route was sailed on a front sail the size of a newspaper, which still pulled the Stubborn at borderline speed. We were on a broad reach, so it was still easier overall. The wind vane did great throughout the journey. It required trimming approximately every hour. Occasionally, the yacht would turn side-on when a larger, breaking wave came along, but it was not completely heeled and immediately returned to course. The wave was often short and steep (wind against tidal currents). We feared a potential pitchpole during the downhill ride from such a wave. Both adults were tense and exhausted by the situation, only Kama remained calm and content.

In preparation for a long and, as we hoped, boring cruise, we bought small toys (sold in Spain under the category of piñata toys) and agreed with our daughter that she would choose one every day. The child would take a new gadget and enjoy it for many hours. Another thing that kept Kama entertained was audiobooks. She was engrossed in pleasant cheerful stories, not paying any mind to the roaring sea around us.

Zuza noticed she began to hear human voices—like someone singing—In preparation for a long and, as we hoped, boring cruise, we bought small toys (sold in Spain under the category of piñata toys) and agreed with our daughter that she would choose one every day. The child would take a new gadget and enjoy it for many hours. Another thing that kept Kama entertained was audiobooks. She was engrossed in pleasant cheerful stories, not paying any mind to the roaring sea around us.

Zuza noticed she began to hear human voices—like someone singing—in the roar of the waves. Sometimes Kamil thought Zuza was saying something, but when he looked inside, the girls were sound asleep. Luckily, we had read about this phenomenon beforehand and knew it happens to most sailors, especially those who sail alone, so we didn't panic, but the impression was truly strange. On the fifth day, the wind began to die down a little, and while we were all sitting together on deck, we witnessed a funny phenomenon. Dolphins began to circle around the boat, but since the waves were large, sometimes they were on top of the wave above us, and we, though in the air, were underneath them.in the roar of the waves. Sometimes Kamil thought Zuza was saying something, but when he looked inside, the girls were sound asleep. Luckily, we had read about this phenomenon beforehand and knew it happens to most sailors, especially those who sail alone, so we didn't panic, but the impression was truly strange. On the fifth day, the wind began to die down a little, and while we were all sitting together on deck, we witnessed a funny phenomenon. Dolphins began to circle around the boat, but since the waves were large, sometimes they were on top of the wave above us, and we, though in the air, were underneath them.

As we approached Lanzarote, Kamil took out the guide "Atlantic Islands" by Anne Hammick and Hilary Keatinge to read up on how we should enter the port. It turned out that before sailing from Ceuta, we should have reserved a spot, because although the marina is large, it can be very crowded. And generally, the Canary Islands are very windy and difficult for sailing... Somehow this information eluded us the year before, and the guide was waiting on the yacht.

On August 4th at three in the morning, we arrived at Arrecife in Lanzarote. Fortunately, COVID discouraged many sailors and there was no trouble finding a spot for our small boat in the marina.

After having a good and peaceful sleep and completing all formalities with the extremely friendly port officials, we set out to explore the island. For our accustomed to meadows and forests eyes the landscape of the volcanic island seemed quite amazing. Instead of lawns, there were small areas covered with black gravel, and the only vegetation were small palms and cacti. Everything was very austere.
The fact that the island has not been turned into a typical resort with huge hotels and piles of yellow sand brought from the Sahara is thanks to César Manrique from Arrecife. This architect and sculptor, upon hearing that General Franco was liberalizing his economic policy and intended to allow hoteliers onto the island, returned from New York and began to press local authorities to impose restrictions on entrepreneurs that would allow the island to retain its amazing climate. He advocated using the local terrain in construction - part of the rooms in his own house were adapted volcanic caves, similar to the pools at the Las Salinas hotel he designed. He remained on his native island until the end of his life, leaving a very distinct mark by designing many buildings and sculptures.

In order to see everything we wanted to visit on Lanzarote, we rented a car and set off to tour the island. We started with the Timanfaya National Park. 

Unlike national parks in Poland, this one has almost no vegetation.

The road winds through fields of smaller and larger volcanic stones. 

There are no pedestrian trails - we leave the car in the parking lot and go to the viewpoint, where the staff shows us that we are really standing on a volcano. When they pour water into a pipe dug into the ground, steam gushes out.

Thrown into the pit, dry branches burst into flames. By the way, branches for burning have to be brought from distant corners of the island - nothing grows here.

Although it is quite expensive, we decide to have breakfast in the style of The Little Prince.

Then we go to see the last project of Cesare Marique - Jardin de Cactus.

In the pit of the former volcanic sand mine, he established a botanical garden where 450 species of cacti and succulents grow - 4500 specimens, from tiny ones to true giants. 

Although they come from all over the world, they have well adapted to the local conditions and create an amazing view. 

We also visit Cueva de Las Verdes - a series of caves formed after the eruption of the Monte Corona volcano. A stream of hot lava, upon contact with air, cooled and hardened on the surface, but continued to flow and spread underneath. This is how the unique "lava tubes" that are hollow inside were formed. The entire tube is 7.5 km long, with one and a half kilometers beneath the ocean surface. Two kilometers are open to visitors. The cave tour must be conducted. We happen to join a Spanish-speaking group, so we understand little, but the views are still amazing. 

Then we proceed to Jameos del Agua, which was formed from the same "volcanic tube" as Cueva de Los Verdes, but was much more transformed. Manrique designed a tourist center within the lava sinks with an auditorium for 500 people and a swimming pool.

In the evening, we return the car and a walk around the city. We also decide to try papas arrugadas - a local variety of jacket potatoes cooked in ocean water. Due to the salt, the potatoes wrinkle, hence the name. Traditionally, they are served with two sauces - green and red. Kamil's brother praised them and they indeed turn out to be delicious. To conclude an intense day, there's a decision to try Ron Miel - a local liquor, very sweet (so not necessarily to everyone's taste), which was also mentioned by Kamil's brother.

After intense sightseeing, we head towards Fuerteventura and anchor at Las Playtas. As the name suggests, there is a beach there, and it's even yellow – the sand has been blown in from the Sahara. Next, we move to another beautiful beach - Morro Jable, but we are aware that time is passing, so after a day of rest, we sail to Punta Janida to be able to calmly set off to Gran Canaria in the morning.

At first, there is no wind (as usual when we are sheltered by a rocky island), so we have to use the engine. At some point, we notice that even though we are sailing in total silence, there must be a strong wind ahead, as a spray rises over the water. It turns out that the wind blows down the cliff and almost lays us on the water, even though we are sailing close to the mast. Interestingly, this happens only over a distance of a few hundred meters, and we sail into silence again. Thus, using the engine, we reach the anchorage at the end of Fuerteventura.

The next day, we sail to Gran Canaria. We already know that the famous Canary "funnel" will be the most challenging. The wind, often strong in this region, meets the volcanic elevations of the islands and has to squeeze between them. Emerging from the island's shelter, over a distance of a few dozen meters, we transition from 0 to 7B wind. Fortunately, we had reefed sails, so we weren't completely knocked down, but the experience was still unpleasant. Now we understood well what the guide had warned us about. We are more prepared for this mentally and physically - Kamil's warm storm coat is within reach because although the Canary sun is strong, it cannot warm a person soaked by the cold waters of the Atlantic from head to toe. Of course, everything calms down as soon as we are in the island's shadow.

We are stopping at the Pasito Blanco anchorage in Gran Canaria. The sand here is still yellowish, and the forecasts predicted strong winds, so we're taking a four-day break. Kamil decides to play chef and serves us bacalhau - salted cod that we bought back in Portugal.

The fish was fried and served with potatoes. It looked really fantastic, but unfortunately, it turned out to have one flaw. It is terribly salty. Although Kamil soaked it, he didn't read that it should be done for 24 hours, changing the water. Generally, we salt very little, so the effect was even stronger. We were sorry to waste the food, so the adults somehow managed to finish the cod, but our enthusiasm for salted fish has significantly weakened after this adventure. Undoubtedly, it is durable, but pouring out large amounts of fresh water to soak it is impractical.

August 13th, the wind weakens, so we head to Tenerife. The sea is still rough and the wind in the "funnel" is about 7B. By the island, the wind bounces off the mountains and swirls terribly - similarly the waves. We want to anchor at Punta Montana Roja. We hope that the high mountain will shield us from the fierce wind. When we enter the bay, it’s already dark, which is quite a challenge - besides the wind, waves, and rocks, we have to watch out for buoys connected to the tanks with jet fuel. Punta Montana Roja is right by the airport, and fuel deliveries are made directly from ships to the tanks using these buoys. In the dusk, we try to distinguish the yellow buoys from the white tops of the waves. Our flashlight is quite strong and helps a bit, but it doesn’t give absolute certainty. Zuza, who is on the lookout, suddenly sees a large uniform white spot on the water where the navigation guide didn't anticipate. Kamil slows down and nervously searches for another path. Fortunately, then the spot, with loud cackling, takes off. It turns out it was a flock of white seagulls that decided to spend the night there. When we finally drop the anchor, we both breathe a sigh of relief.

The wind is favorable, so in the morning we continue on. This time, without much difficulty, we sail to Gomera and anchor in the cove of Playa de la Roja. Only the next day can we fully appreciate the beauty of this place. As the name suggests, the high cliffs surrounding the small rocky beach are reddish. The successive geological layers and the violent transformations they have undergone are clearly visible. It is impossible to reach here by land, and there is no GSM coverage.

Clearly, this is a picnic spot because there are already two families on the beach.

For some time now, we haven't been leaving the inflated raft out overnight because the wind usually blows it onto the deck and often punctures it. We had enough of repairs as well as the daily pumping, drying, and folding. So, we put Kamilka, some snacks, and a bottle of water on our pink inflatable flamingo and swim while towing the child. We must look very desperate because when we land, one of the families invites us to join their picnic. The conversation is challenging because their English is about as bad as our Spanish, but they treat us to fantastic food - mango from their own garden, homemade papas arrugadas, and delicious salads.

Eventually, the family packs up and sails away to nearby San Sebastian. That's when we catch the interest of the second family. It turns out to be a young couple who permanently live in London, have come home for a vacation, and are camping here with parents from both sides. The parents are avid hikers of the trapper type. They have built an entire campground - stone walls and tarpaulin roofs - they have little rooms and a kitchen. They also invite us over for lunch - this time homemade paella with freshly gathered sea snails.

We are very glad that we brought small bottles of Żubrówka from Poland, which are very handy in such situations - we can reciprocate with something original and exotic for the locals. Thanks to the fact that the young people speak English, we learn many interesting things about Gomera and the entire Canary Islands. We watch photos from the national park, which is located on the windward side of the island. The landscape is completely different - here small bushes between scree, there moss-covered laurel forests.

We ask about canaries - Zuza expected plenty of them here. It turns out that out of the whole group, one person saw a canary and only once in their life. We also learn about El Silbo, the whistled language used by local shepherds. Although the inhabitants of San Sebastian don't need it in daily life, it's part of the island's unique heritage, which they are proud of.

We have docked at Playa de la Roja bay several times over the years. We all swam with masks and snorkels, attracting colorful fish with a shiny piece of metal, and we saw octopuses and stingrays. Now we say farewell to hospitable Gomera with sadness and head to our destination port for this year - La Restinga on El Hierro.

While sailing between islands, we often catch small dorados or tunas. Just right for one meal. 

We like to make patties from them, among other things. Very simple yet tasty - some onion, cooked rice, an egg, and spices.

We arrive before 20:00 and are very happy that it is not dark yet, because we would be afraid to enter here - the harbor mouth is quite narrow, the waves are strong, and there are rocks all around. Fortunately, the massive breakwater protects the port itself well, so the situation improves greatly once past the harbor mouth. A security guard greets us. We ask him if it's always this windy here, and he responds with a stone face, "Yes, always."

It turns out that the area where we are supposed to leave the yacht belongs to a fishing cooperative, and the marina is managed by Puertos Canarios. Although we have a reserved spot on land, in the water we can only moor at the quay, not at the floating docks. The quay is designed for large ships, and our small fenders fit entirely into the vertical slots, while Stubborn bangs against the hard rubber strips attached to the quay. Additionally, the tide here is significant, and we have to keep an eye on the lines. The first thing Kamil does in the morning is to buy two fenders with a diameter of a meter—the same as the eighteen-meter rescue vessel docked next to us. Only these effectively protect the yacht's side from bumping.

After the experiences in Portugal, Kamil tries to ask about a stand, but it turns out that no one in the cooperative speaks English. We are to come back later when the boss is present. It turns out that the boss is also exclusively Spanish-speaking but reassures us with gestures that they will just clean up a bit and we will be on land by tomorrow. Indeed, a bearded man in stained clothes spends the whole day moving around the yard with a forklift, tidying up some boards and pieces of laminate. The next day, Kamil prepares a picture of Albin to show the crane operator that we need to be careful with the propeller. When the tide comes in, the bearded man in stained clothes approaches and starts with español, português, français, English, deutsch? It turns out that the man we took for a cleaner is an excellent specialist, a Portuguese who worked in several European shipyards. We later found out that he spoke fluently in any of the languages he offered. When asked about the stand, he shrugs and says there is no stand, we will be set up like other small boats, on barrels. We look around the yard in disbelief, and indeed, most boats stand on fuel barrels supplemented with a pyramid of boards that closely resembles a game of Jenga. Seeing these unstable constructions and recalling the wild wind, Kamil feels like fleeing, but there is nowhere to go. Not only is this the cheapest place within roughly 1,000 km (although the most expensive we have stayed at so far), but few ports here offer the possibility of wintering on land. So we decide, reluctantly, to stay. Stubborn is skillfully lifted from the water and taken to the yard. Portuguese Javier turns off the crane engine and tells us that those four barrels are for us and that we can take any loose wood we find in the yard. He glances at our terrified faces and without a word gets to work, showing us how to proceed. Incidentally, over the following years, we discovered that the locals know well what they are doing and their makeshift stands handle the strongest winds without any issues.

Without major adventures, we pack the boat and head home. For about 500 years, El Hierro was the westernmost piece of land known to Europeans and Arabs, which is why maps (especially non-British ones) had the zero meridian right here. It was only after Columbus that the situation changed for good. When planning the return, it truly feels as if coming back from the edge of the world. The flight is from Tenerife. To get there, we need to go to Valverde and take a ferry to Los Cristianos. There's also an option of an air connection between El Hierro and Tenerife, but when we were returning, it was more expensive and didn't actually save us time. 

From the airport window, we see the Punta Montana Roja anchorage once again.