25th September to 9th November 2024

Galicia covers the northwest corner of Spain. It’s different from the better known and more touristy areas of the Mediterranean coast. Tourists here are mainly Spanish who wish to escape the heat of high summer further south, and latter day pilgrims on their ways to Santiago de Compostela, plus passing sailors such as me, usually heading south from Northern Europe’s chilly winters.

In my view it’s the most attractive part of the Iberian peninsula. There is a series of rias (big bays) backed by wooded mountains which offer protection from whatever may be going on in the offshore Atlantic. There are lots of unspoilt sandy beaches and pretty Galician villages. The coastline is a mass of impressive cliffs and rocky outcrops, including Spain’s Cape Finisterre. There are offshore islands too, in a well protected nature reserve.

Half the population speaks Galician, half Spanish. And if you like to eat shellfish and octopus, this is where you’ll find them; more are eaten here than anywhere else. For me, alas, it’s all a bit yuk.

The sea between rias was rough, but I thought that would discourage the orcas who’ve recently been playing uncomfortable games with yachts in the area. You can see dreadful damage to rudders on many yachts in local boatyards.

As I sailed out of Ria de Muros, Henrietta received a radio call from Finisterre Coastguard. Oh no! my immediate reaction was I was being called up for infringing some rule – illegal immigration, bad navigation perhaps, or skinny dipping. But no, a small fishing boat had capsized nearby – it was pretty rolly outside the sheltered Ria. Two persons were clinging to the upturned hull, could I go and assist?

Initially I couldn’t see them (it’s hard to spot a small boat in a big swell) but, given a position, I spotted them. Quickly down with the sails and motor over to their precarious situation a few metres from a jumble of rocks and crashing waves. As I reach them and shout that I can pick them up if they jump in the sea, the Muros lifeboat roars up in a fine display of power and spray. Phew! I’m waved away. Coastguard thanks me and I’m on my way once more.

A bit further south in the wonderful boatyard at Xufre in Ria Arousa, Henrietta had her annual onshore checkup and new makeup applied (polish, anodes, antifouling and new shaft seal). 

The boatyard is a sociable spot, particularly popular with Irish sailors, so plenty of good company. Apparently there’s some historic Celtic connection (Galicians play bagpipes) and many Irish boats spend the whole summer just cruising this area. They make excellent companions.

In early autumn Galicia is also often very wet. It rained nearly every day I was there and after a busy fortnight I was ready to leave.

Five days and nearly 700 miles over the ocean, often rough and with crossing the busy shipping routes from English Channel to Med. and Suez, South Africa or South America, it was rather tiring. 

A dream, then, to arrive in the little island of Porto Santo, near Madeira. It’s my fourth visit. It gets busier with more yachts every year.

Porto Santo is the low key, peaceful and ever-so-charming little sister of Madeira.

Like lots of places, it claims historical connections with Columbus, and he did indeed stop here before his transatlantic voyages to the Caribbean. There’s an informative little museum to fill in detail. Though I’ve recently read that DNA analyses and so on, suggest he was from Spain, not Genoa in Italy.

Next stops were in Madeira. Millions of visitors have come to this island and continue to come here, and have no doubt enjoyed the wonderful mountain scenery, striking coastline, and maybe a noisy nightclub, as well as the quiet polite courtesy of the people.

I like it a lot.

But the forecast wind is looking good for sailing on towards the Canaries, so it’s time to leave.