Arriving Into Portugal
Spain extends like a fist pounding down, southward out of mountainous France right to the nose of their forever African rivals in Morocco. But the Portuguese portion, like a thumb stitched into the fabric of this peninsula, has always been its own fiercely independent nation.
The heart of this nation puts its back to the Spanish behind them, and its face well westward toward sun and sea. They may be attached by geography, but are and have always been their own thing. It was Portuguese naval expertise and bravery that opened the world for all other Europeans, east to the Orient and west to the brave new world of Brazil.
Sailing into Lagos (pronounced ‘Lagosh’) is a beautiful thing. The passage across had pounded us constantly through the northern Atlantic’s surly seas, its petulant attitude there to remind you who’s actually in charge here. After getting the ocean’s sledge hammer to our hull for just over a thousand miles, the sight of land was very welcome indeed.
But above and beyond the gratitude of completion, was a deep awareness of transition from the New World to the Old World. Seeing the continent of Africa off our starboard bow hit the soul like a bass cello and its resin’d bow, that strikes deeply into a resonance that can only come from the birthplace of humanity. In the midst of awe and humility, it was, for a moment, difficult to swallow past the lump in our throats.
Dottie shares a memory of sailing in Greece, coming back to Athens by Cape Sounion where you see the clifftop Temple of Poseidon. The same stones who witnessed aloft the thousand ships coming home, all grateful for their most precious land and loves. Like coming home to Greece, sailing in those last few hundred meters along the sandstone cliffs and caves Praia da Boneca connects you to those 10s, 100s, and 1000s before you.
Old or new, you feel the pull between the longing for the sea and gratitude to the Deities of the day that you made it back home again. Rounding into Lagos pulled back the curtain on this connection, tethered by similar trials common and rare. So very different, yet so very much the same.
By the end of the passage, as you can see from the video, we were overjoyed to reach toward our refuge on the southern coast of Portugal. There would be hugs with sailor friends, parties with the group, and delicious Portuguese foods/coffees/wines all waiting. Even better we'd sleep without a night watch, and without the banging waves, and random bucketing of water into the cockpit and cabin.
First order of business after arriving? No, sorry, the second order of business (the first is to break the bubbles to show gratitude to the sea gods, old and new) is to collect the fallen spilled disheveled cabin and crew on the inside, grab a hot shower, and then give a much needed bath to the beauty of a boat that shepherded us the whole way safely. Put her back in order, first and foremost - she deserves it.
Love this video because, welcome to the suck of sailing you never saw coming. Salt spray all around you, all the time is something you don’t even notice or think about until you get to the other side and then it seems like you should go into business selling all natural, Ocean-to-Table Sea Salt, lovingly scraped off the side of my boat.
Welcome to Portugal.
This was not an easy passage, but it was definitely one of the most rewarding. When so many things stay the same, day in, day out, night after watchful night, it is the transitions that stick in your heart and mind. Reaching Europe by sea was both an end and a beginning, a rite of passage that opened the door to the Mediterranean. Our lives would never be the same.
