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Farfelu - Into the swing of things



Our normal experience of cruising is to run away and hide from other people, to set anchor in the most unpopulated bay we can find and play Robinson Crusoe. This rally is immediately as different from anything we are used to and equally enjoyable. The arrival in Baiona was an entirely new and pleasurable sensation, being greeted by the rally organisers and other yachtsmen one instantly felt part of a newly formed comradeship which added enormously to the excitement. Swapping of stories, reliving the sensation, seeing every slight difference of experience through other pairs of eyes enriched our own recollection of an event that was memorable enough already. A few days at leisure in Baiona was the chance to ramble around its attractive narrow streets, find restaurants and bars for refreshment, laugh and relax as a family as well as with other teams from the rally. Bonds are being formed, maybe transient but none the less intense; it's a grand bunch and we're rubbing along just fine.

Farfelu is attracting a certain amount of attention; she is potentially one of the faster boats but we are being very cautious. Sailing shorthanded, we are content to take the safe option, plod along and learn how to handle her without taking unnecessary liberties with our own limited knowledge and ensuring that we have a substantial safety margin. This is, after all, our first trip on such a monster machine and there's a heck of a lot still to learn. We are way past the basic principle stage and with each leg gaining confidence in her seagoing capabilities. The second leg, from Baiona to Povoa was less than comfortable, however, an unpleasant lumpy sea and quite strong wind on the nose; after tacking out a fairly long way west then turning back towards the coast we had covered only a tenth of the leg distance in a couple of hours, in fact our distance travelled was four times greater than the straight line route. A quick calculation showed that, although we could have continued to tack southwards, we wouldn't have arrived until it was time for breakfast so another "no-brainer" decision was made: pack it in and start the motor. Hugo remembers very little of the journey, dosed heavily with Stugeron he slept throughout, emerging just in time to moor up!

Povoa gives the appearance of a town that has outgrown its origins. Developed out of a fishing community it has burgeoned into an ugly seaside sprawl of anonymous apartment blocks. Nonetheless, it still has a small and attractive centre where we wandered in search of dinner, finding a most un-touristy restaurant serving super fish and steaks. Filled to the brim and back to a long sleep, ready for a lazy day on the morrow. Lazy days have a way of passing un-noticed, we wandered around looking for a flagstaff without any success, had a meander around town and suddenly it was dinner time again so off to the yacht club.

The morning brought fresh winds and a number of boisterous gusts brought about an hour's postponement of the start of leg 3. A wise call as it was only a short leg without time pressure. As boats were preparing to leave I discovered that we were blowing off our dock so hard that it was impossible to untie without being swept sideways towards a nasty looking rocky wall. I scratched from the leg and waited until we could have some help from the ever-patient Andrew and a bunch of strong capable hands on the dock. We made our passage an hour later than the herd and romped along downwind with the headsails wing-and-wing; it could have been perfect had the sea not been quite so rolly but we had a lot of fun and made very good time. Our evening visit to the Graham's port establishment in Porto was a highlight, guided around the lodge between stacks of barrels maturing in Stygian gloom the overriding impression was of stately calm in a centuries old tradition. A magnificent view of Porto from the terrace as the buildings were illuminated, sipping a fine old tawny, rounded off a rather good day.

JPT


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