Land ho!

I've arrived to Cedería in the North West of Spain. What was only 30 years ago a sleepy fishing village has become quite populated but still retains its sense of tranquility and slow paced life, where the old guys speak on the side of the road and the petrol attendant quips a joke in the broad local Spanish. The sun is just going down on a warm day and I can already feel the autumnal nip coming on the breeze. Everyday a new boating experience. Today's feature involved parking next to a huge wall with big fat tires acting as buffers and a ladder to go up into the fishing dock. And all single handed of course. Easy solution, tie the boat to the ladder then scurry up and fix the fore and aft lines. The guys in the fuel depot tell me I have to buy my diesel in town, not in their commercial port. How far to the garage? 3 kilometres they reply. My reply in Spanish involves the colloquial use of the words "Por favor", as in, "for gods sake!" And "Que Quilombo" which is a way of saying, "What a mess!" The little guy offers to drive me and my jerrycans to the garage on the far side of town. Help is never far away when you need a hand! After my bashing in the French gale, things became markedly calmer, to the point of making the lions share from that point across Biscay, on the motor, which I'm kind of grateful for but also quite resentful about. If you can imagine sitting at home with a big 2 cylinder Diesel engine thumping away in the room you're sat in, it gives an idea of the measure of disquiet and disturbance. However, the alternative is to sit in the becalmed swell being rocked with everything tapping and scraping and banging unrelentingly, and go nowhere, which I think would drive me completely mad! Having left the shipping routes, I found it easy to sleep in two hour stretches through the night, which is always a little disconcerting, chuntering on through the darkness and hoping not to meet someone like me doing the same thing, coming from the opposite direction! I have realised that it's a complete fallacy to think that there is freedom on the oceans blue. The level of restriction with too much wind, not enough wind, or wind blowing the wrong direction can seriously affect ones plans and schedule. I am left humbled, quite rightly so, and a meek servant to this master who parades with mystery and uncertainty, refusing to bend to the will of those who dare to travel on her.  

La Caruña is the go to place to stop after a Biscay passage, with four marinas and all the facilities, at£30 per night including a cacophony of squeaky fenders I'm sure. So I'm glad came to Cedeira, sat now at anchor on the flat calm. Time to cook, eat, potter and get ready for the next section south.