Damian started his long journey home the day after we arrived in A Coruña, and I spent the next few days walking around town, doing laundry, rotting (or "composting," as I believe Paddy coined it) and planning the next stage of the journey.
A Coruña was bigger than I expected. The first day I wandered the old part of town: narrow streets, bakeries, restaurants, small shops. The second day I ventured further south and discovered a proper metropolitan centre with large chain retailers and people rushing around doing their business.
Departing the safety of the marina is always a little unnerving when I'm sailing solo. I re-entered the Atlantic swell, and the first day was a lot of motoring. I used the time to run the watermaker. It pulls seawater in, pushes it through a series of filters, and spits out fresh drinking water at 50 litres an hour. It still feels slightly miraculous every time.
I arrived in Camariñas, a fishing village tucked into a cove on the northwest corner of Spain. I dropped anchor off a nice-looking beach beside a Dutch sailboat, and was shortly joined by two catamarans. It was a quiet and calm night — exactly what you want when you're on the hook.
In the morning I took out the paddleboard, went ashore, walked the beach, and wandered into town. I picked up some Spanish cheese, hummus, and wine from an unremarkable grocery store, and paddled back to the boat.
I set sail without a firm destination in mind, which is one of the nicer aspects of this kind of travel. The winds were decent and I averaged around 6 knots, ending up near a town called San Vicente do Mar.
I had just dropped anchor when a fast-looking boat with ADUANAS written on the side came alongside with the intention of boarding. Customs. I'd familiarized myself with the word while wandering A Coruña looking for their office. Two officers came aboard, asked if I spoke Spanish. I replied "un poco," which I assume made them happy, because it didn't seem like they spoke any English. As they filled out a form, I made some very small talk, asked if they lived nearby, told them it was very pretty here. They said it's nicer in the summer. They thought the boat was muy bonito.
The next morning I motored to a quiet anchorage in the Parque Nacional Marítimo Terrestre de las Islas Atlánticas de Galicia. I'd submitted a permit request the day before, received it in the morning, and with it came access to an online booking system for anchoring at Islas Cíes.
I dropped the hook off another beautiful sandy beach. I considered going for a swim, but the wind was blowing and it was honestly a bit chilly. I wasn't sure at first whether to stay or move on — the winds were picking up — but I ended up deciding to just sit with it for the day. I watched the sunset, watched a movie, went to bed.
The next morning I sailed further south. The conditions were ideal for a longer passage, and the winds pushed me on into Portugal. After 11.5 hours I arrived at Porto. I'd initially planned to take a berth in the marina, but opted to anchor just outside instead. Solo anchoring is a degree easier than solo docking at the best of times, and the strong current running out of the Douro River wasn't going to make it any easier.
I made dinner, poured a glass of wine, and watched the party boats go by.
Porto looks like it'll be home for a few days. The wind is swinging southerly, which isn't much use to someone trying to sail south. It's morning now, and the city is waking up. Fishing boats are heading out, and construction on the far bank of the river has started up.