Brittany (France) and Sada (Spain)

The weather in Cherbourg was rather unsettled: frequent rain and a string of depressions marching up the Channel and over England. So when we got a weather window with relatively little wind, but from a direction that wasn’t entirely wrong, we left in a hurry. Marc and his crewmate had already gone on without Martine (who took the train) to the finish of the “Scheveningen 500” race and rally they had helped organise, namely Roscoff. We didn’t stop there. First, we weren’t taking part at all, and second, it seemed smart to me to round the western corner of Brittany straight away while there was no west in the wind. Wim and Mar on Pelagia had the same idea and had left at 04:00 (yes, four in the morning). I slept in until 6 and then set off as well, in drizzle and fog. Once outside the harbour it turned out you could sail quite nicely, hard on the wind. Fine by me. Later the wind kept freeing, and we got to sail a lot, in weather that was gradually becoming less drizzly and foggy too. Pelagia peeled off towards Brest, but we saw our chance to head for Loctudy.

I had already been there with Arnold in 2017 (see photo). Unfortunately I wasn’t blogging about destinations and trips back then, but there was a little incident. We came up the river in glorious weather and thought: this looks like a lovely spot to anchor and dry out. The electronic chart showed nothing there (yet). Ten minutes after we’d anchored, one of those little fishing boats with a bus shelter on top came charging over. It turned out we were lying on the gentleman’s oyster beds. Oh dear, sorry sorry sorry! Up came the anchor, and sure enough a whole steel oyster rack full of oysters came up with it. I think the oyster farmer was glad to get off this lightly: a quick repair at low water, but at least we hadn’t spent a night sitting on his oysters with our fat hull. He then led us to a spot that was fine according to him, which was of course a far too deep anchorage. We anchored there anyway, and I dug a nice bottle of French Bordeaux out of the forepeak at top speed by way of apology.

This time bad weather was forecast for the following two days, with a lot of wind as well. So we were in nicely in time. In that kind of weather, going ashore for dinner and so on with the three of us in the dinghy isn’t much of a success, so we went into the marina instead. There was still a lovely berth for us. In 2017 we hadn’t visited the village itself, only the opposite bank. Loctudy turns out to be a very typical Breton holiday and fishing village: good food (crêpes, fish, croissants) and a tiny little museum about the rise and fall of sardine canning. I’d never really realised it, but with the arrival of cheap electric refrigeration, canned fish was soon finished; from then on people could eat “fresh” fish, and that of course tastes much better.

Meanwhile it was time to book Arnold’s journey home. TGV from Lorient again, then? No sooner said than done. After the windy days we set off under a fresh, blown-clean sky, though with some hefty showers still about. Everything went fine until halfway, when suddenly one of those showers had some wind in it. BANG! CRACK! I looked up from the cockpit in shock, and the kids were suddenly outside too. The piece of aluminium sticking out of the Hoyt boom, where the hydraulic ram attaches, had torn apart: the eye turned out to have had a partial crack somewhere, and the loads had become too much for the rest. As luck would have it, the ram and the hydraulic hose survived intact.

Quickly furled the jib and secured the boom. Oops. Better get into harbour, have a proper look at what’s going on and take it from there. We can sail with the jib without the boom, but it’s a lot less pleasant. We berthed in the town harbour in Lorient. After lunch I spoke to the harbourmaster, who knew just the guy, how nice. He’d come the next morning (Monday). Monday morning at 10, nothing, of course. So I ask: ah yes, yesterday’s harbourmaster has the day off, but we know about it and we’ll give him a ring. At 12 another harbourmaster (harbourmistress) came to tell me the welder would come straight after lunch. Great. And indeed he was there at two, a nice young guy, and he understood what was needed. In hindsight I didn’t need a welder but a general mechanic, but he could do this too. He took some parts home to finish them to the dimensions I wanted, and the next day he came to fit them. It’s better now than it was before the damage, so all good. I did discover we have another problem, though: the boom itself can wobble a bit around its own pin. So that needs fixing too, but there’s no great rush.

On one of those repair days Arnold and Ella went to the big museum site at the former submarine bunker complex. (I wonder what Google Translate makes of the magnificent Dutch compound word for it, “onderzeebootbunkerterrein”!) Unfortunately it was all a bit disappointing: one exhibition might have been quite interesting, but all the signs were in French only, you officially weren’t allowed into the submarine bunker itself, and so on and so forth. Luckily the kids know what a jetty is, and maybe you can get in round the back that way? And indeed, they strolled right into the bunker, whistling as they went.

Because of those bunkers, Lorient itself was of course completely flattened by bombing in the Second World War. Whereas in Saint-Malo the French rebuilt the entire centre historically, and in Le Havre they developed a beautiful city plan, Lorient is a sort of concrete cross between an American city (grid street plan) and the bad neighbourhoods of Almere. Rather depressing, to be honest. The restaurants were a bit iffy too. Clearly not a tourist hotspot, then; next time we’ll go back to the marina at the entrance (called Kernevel), where you’re in the local beach village for tourists, with good food and nice walks.

On Wednesday we took Arnold to the bus. His TGV from Lorient to Paris was a bit delayed, but that didn’t matter because so was the Eurostar from Paris to Amsterdam. Still, it’s a superb system: in 9 to 10 hours you can get from any decent-sized city in France to Amsterdam. Quickly checked the weather and said: Ella, we’re off, or we’ll miss the weather window! Paid in a hurry, cast off and set sail as soon as we were outside the harbour. Had another look at the weather. Oh, I got the day wrong… Never mind, we’ll just spend another night at anchor somewhere. Belle Île (“beautiful island”) came in handy once again. On the way we saw some extreme solo sailing boats come blasting past in the other direction. It didn’t really matter how we were sailing, because the speed difference was enormous. In the video you can see Banque Populaire 12 Solo Sailor blasting past…

Anchoring was lovely again; for a short stop like that it’s ideal, because all you have to do is drop the anchor and pick it up again in the morning. No fenders or mooring lines needed, brilliant. The next morning we left at first light for La Coruña, or rather Sada just south of it. This was because of Pitou, more on that later. It turned into a beautiful passage, with the wind on the quarter and then dead astern: plenty of wind the first day, and just a bit on the light side the second, but still fine. That didn’t matter, it was wonderfully relaxed, and the waves matched once we’d left the continental shelf. The depth then goes from 150 to between 2,500 and 4,000 metres within a few kilometres. All the “nasty” waves suddenly disappear. In the first video, from the first day, you can still see cross seas, but in the second video they’re gone completely.

When I finally arrived, Ella was fast asleep (it was 2 in the morning) and we hadn’t been given a berth in the Sada marina either. So we anchored again and had a good sleep after a night and a half of sailing. The next day we went into the marina; we could take I 30. On arrival: we can find I, but where is 30? After a bit of searching, two marineros (literally “harbour men”) soon came walking up. This berth, sir. Oh, but oops, there are no cleats on the finger pontoon! No problem, we’ll just take two from somewhere else. In Dutch we call doing things a bit sloppily “the French way”, but maybe it should have been “the Spanish way”?

Straight after that, coffee with Liselotte and Machiel from the sailing boat Pitou. They’re (sailing) friends we’ve known since Suriname in 2019. Back then they went through the Panama Canal, and from there via Hawaii to Alaska and then back down again. Now, after 7 years of sailing, they’re on their way to the Netherlands. Lovely people! At drinks time things got interesting: Hafenkino, German for “harbour cinema”. It was blowing quite hard, and a permanent berth holder with an enormous motor yacht came in to moor on the leeward side. Apparently not used to this much wind, he kept making the same turn just in front of his berth as he would without wind. Except that doesn’t work in a breeze; you have to turn much further from the pontoon and then reverse for longer. Anyway, after four attempts he suddenly fell off the other way and just kept coming straight at us! BANG! The whole starboard pulpit bent out of shape. Well, that too! After they had moored bows-in after all (and we understood why they hadn’t wanted to: now all 6 guests had to climb down very inelegantly over the anchor and be caught by many hands), and peace had returned, the owner/skipper came over very properly to own up and immediately arranged with the local yard for it to be repaired on Monday.

Once we’d recovered from all the excitement ourselves, the four of us went out for dinner on a terrace overlooking the harbour. We had only just poured the first glass of wine when we suddenly heard a (very) familiar voice: Marion had secretly flown to Coruña (via Málaga, of all places) and, after a whole day of travelling, was there with her darling daughter, whose birthday was a few days later! I’d had a vague suspicion, but it was still a real surprise! Wonderful, of course, and a big kiss. After a very convivial evening, off to bed.

The next day we had a cosy breakfast with fresh baguette and made plans for the first day. Two things needed to happen: choosing a birthday present for Ella (by Ella) and dinner at a restaurant in La Coruña in the evening. In 2019 Marion and I had eaten fantastically at “Peculiar” two days in a row. This time too, although it was somewhat different from back then, it was extraordinarily good. It was now “shared dining”, so we ordered six dishes. Five would have been plenty, especially since Ella and I also had a truly scandalously delicious dessert. The dishes arrived at the table one at a time, which was very nice, in the order they judged best. Absolutely top.

The following day Marion and Ella went to Santiago de Compostela with the Pitou crew. They also attended Mass there; I hear it was very beautiful. I didn’t go: plenty to do on board, and my knee is bothering me quite a bit. Both of these get rather short shrift on this blog. My right knee has been slowly recovering ever since I tripped over a piece of ripped-out interior at Brouwdok in January. It seemed to be heading in the right direction, but now it’s getting inflamed on the inside again; I think it’s the same problem I had on the left: my body is quick to start auto-immune reactions. Rubbing in diclofenac for now and hoping it gets better. Otherwise, a more serious injection at some point. And the boat jobs, phew, if I wrote about those every post would be twice as long.

Today is Ella’s birthday. A nice breakfast and the presentation of her present (a lovely pair of Sennheiser headphones). Marion had of course hung Spanish bunting in the cockpit (during the day you mostly live outside here). Then the ladies went shopping and I did boat jobs again. The pulpit should be ready tomorrow; the boom could be repaired here, but realistically it would take a week. So I’ve decided to have that done in Lagos (Portugal); once Ella leaves the boat on the 18th, I’ll have until 8 October, when Koen and Saskia come aboard.

Right, I’m all caught up, the ladies are back, and we’re off for some cake with Liselotte and Machiel. Next blog from the west side of Galicia!