Guest contributor Steven Morten
Regular readers will already know the value of having friends with boats (if you butter them up well enough, you might get an invitation to stay on board). So Helen and I were secretly delighted to be the first guests on Sea Star’s epic journey south.
We were already in Spain for our son’s wedding and arrived in A Coruna a little on the hungover side of healthy but soon managed to get into the swing (literally) of life on the ocean wave. Our bedroom (sorry, cabin) was set up to welcome us on board: a broom to clean the boat, a matching set of Sea Star t-shirts, and a motivational book by some minor British politician who thinks we all need his advice. James has never been known for his subtlety.
A Coruna is right on the top left hand corner of Spain – a lovely little port town and the second city of the region of Galicia, which is famous for its seafood. It also has the Roman Tower of Hercules, the oldest functioning lighthouse in the world. But we didn’t see much of that because we headed off to sea the next day and went round the corner to head south down the Atlantic Coast of Spain.
Now, dear reader, you may think a 48 foot boat is quite big but when there are four people and a dog vying for space in a restricted area that has an alarming tendency to rock n roll from side to side with some violence, you find yourself struggling to stay upright, never mind doing anything useful at the same time. But we were the nominated crew, so we had lessons in ropes (sorry, lines, sheets and halyards), knots, wind both apparent and true (don’t ask) and sails. This mainly involved doing all the tasks that James and Nicky had tired of, and we found ourselves pulling ropes (sorry, sheets) around winches, getting fingers stuck in jammers (don’t ask) all the while trying to stay upright and out of the way of everyone else. Oh, and not standing on top of El Tobos, who had this sailing thing down pat – he went to sleep.
Talking of sheets, you should see the toilets (sorry, heads). Tiny things that only take one buttock at a time, with liquid slopping around inside in severe danger of an unplanned exit and you aren’t even allowed toilet paper. Guys, don’t even think of standing up! The basic rule with these things (sorry, heads) is “Hold On Until You Reach A Marina”. Remember that and you’ll be fine.
Actually it was all fine and we adjusted well to life on board, felt good about raising and lowering sails (sorry, sheets) all on our own and even managed to make a cup of tea whilst rock n rolling round the corner. We ate nothing but seafood and drank the local wine and I can report both are fabulous and cheap and the wine only gives you a hangover if you drink a whole bottle all by yourself.
We went via Cape Finisterre as we left Biscay and went into Fitzroy, heading for Trafalgar (north by north west 4, variable with some foggy patches, becoming 6 by 16.00) and ended up in the nearest port town to Santiago da Compostela which is the end point for the walkers, nutters, hippies and pilgrims who undertake the Camino Way from France and other points east and walk all the way along the northern tracks of Spain. The Way is marked by the symbol of the shell and you finish in the church of St James in Santiago and kiss his feet. Job done.
As we went via bus into town, James somehow seemed to think this had something to do with him but I’ll be buggered if I am going to kiss his feet!
Anyway, a week had passed and unfortunately it was time for us to go, so we said bon voyage to our wonderful hosts and went back to sunny England and normal size loos.
Top tip: butter up the hosts and get yourself and invite – it’s brilliant.
Sea Star goes South 