Gearing Down

One thousand miles in less than four weeks. From the cool damp of County Cork to the warm dry of Andalucia. Finally, it’s time to slow down.

The first days of the 2012 season were for moving the boat far and fast. Thanks to a determined will and the help of a strong crew, this mission has been accomplished. I am deeply grateful for the efforts of John Hoopes, Chris Adams, John O’Riordan, and Andrew Tedesco in helping me reach this goal. Because of them, Windleblo is now swathed in Mediterranean air.

After tucking Windleblo into a slip at Albufeira marina on Portugal’s Algarve, Andy and I took a fast train 200 kilometers north to greet Jocelyn as she arrived at Lisbon airport on June 17^th. A short taxi ride later, we settled into an adorable third floor apartment on Rua da Costa do Castelo, a narrow cobblestoned street that wraps around the hill supporting the Castle of São Jorge, one of Lisbon’s chief tourist attractions. A small balcony provided an unfettered view of the whitewashed walls and terra cote roofs of Baixa, Lisbon’s downtown district.

We spent the afternoon and much of the next day walking through Lisbon’s Bairro Alto, Baixa, and Alfama districts. In the heart of the city, these districts provided a generous sampling of the best Lisbon has to offer – historic plazas, exquisite architecture, diverse neighborhoods, and cafes and restaurants too numerous to count. We paused often for respite from Lisbon’s steep hills and to take in the warm air, the blue sky, and the Portuguese.

Sometimes over pastries and coffee, sometimes over beer and tapas, I recounted for Jocelyn my experiences. I told her how helpful the Irish had been as we prepared for the Biscay Crossing; how John O had driven us all over Cork to collect provisions; how James Lyons had made space for us at Trident Marina; and how Victor Fusco had allowed us to use the kitchen at the Kinsale Outdoor Education Center to prepare our crossing meals.

I told her how we had endured wind and rain on our nose as we said goodbye to Ireland, then fair weather and lunch in the cockpit on Day Two, and finally Force 7 seas as we approached La Coruna. “It’s just Biscay letting you know it’s Biscay,” John O had said.

I told her how we had celebrated our safe arrival in La Coruna; how for very little money we had purchased serrano ham, soft cheese, and dry white wine in unlabeled bottles from small neighborhood shops in Camarinas; how we had rounded Cabo de Finisterre – “World’s End” – on Spain’s northwest tip and entered the Spanish rias; how we had viewed endless beaches under warm, cloudless skies from atop  Monte Louro  near Muros; how we had toured a full-scale replica of the Pinta at Bayonne to hear how the Old World first learned of the New.

I told her how dull and drab we had found the people and streets of Varzim, our first port of call in Portugal; how we had enjoyed a Portuguese seafood dinner to celebrate the reunion of cousins John and Andy at Varzim; and how Andy and I had moved the boat far and fast with two overnight passages between Figueroa da Foz and Albufeira with several relaxing layover days on the beach in Cascais as reward.

With her usual attentiveness, Jocelyn took all this in as she absorbed her new surroundings. Now that she had arrived, the season could begin. We were ready to gear down.