Liam’s Take
Ryan has always been a smooth talker, but nothing tops his performance in Galicia. We were mooring up next to a local fisherman, and Ryan—wanting to be helpful—tried to tell him he’d tie up his boat.
What came out instead?
“Yo te amo.”
Yep, instead of saying amarre (mooring), he told the guy, “I love you.” The old sailor looked stunned for a second, then burst out laughing before giving Ryan a slap on the back like they’d just gotten engaged.
A few hours later, we strolled past a bar where the same fishermen were supping pints, and the second they clapped eyes on Ryan, up went the glasses—“¡Te amamos!”—like he was some long-lost lover.
Morto for him. I nearly keeled over laughing.
Ryan? Ah, he’s keeping the head down, acting like it never happened.
Ryan’s Take
Alright, I need to properly learn Spanish.
Not just to stop myself from confessing my love to sailors, but because it would make life so much easier.
Back in San Sebastián, we needed some repairs, and I had to rely on Google Translate to explain what was wrong. I still don’t know exactly what I asked for, but I’m fairly sure I paid for something extra that I didn’t need. Maybe a spare filtro de combustible? Maybe an entire mástil? Who knows.
So, I’ve started picking up some key Spanish sailing terms.
Here are 15 words that every sailor cruising Spain’s coast should know:
Amarre — This is your mooring spot. When calling a marina, ask “¿Tienen un amarre disponible para esta noche?” (Do you have a mooring available for tonight?). If you don’t check ahead, you might be left como un pato en el agua (like a sitting duck).
Reserva — If you don’t want to end up circling a marina like a lost eejit, learn this word. “Tengo una reserva para dos noches” (I have a reservation for two nights) will save you the hassle, especially in summer when spots fill up faster than a Spanish bar at siesta time.
Muelles — The docks or piers. Some are public, some are private, and some you’ll get chased off if you tie up without asking. You can check by saying, “¿Podemos amarrar en este muelle?” (Can we tie up at this dock?)
Capitanía — The harbor master’s office, where you check in, show your boat documents, and pay up. If you don’t know where it is, ask, “¿Dónde está la capitanía?” (Where is the harbor master’s office?), and hope they don’t send you on a wild goose chase.
Tarifas — Speaking of fees, every marina has different tarifas. They depend on the size of your boat, the season, and sometimes whether the guy in charge is having a good day or not. If you don’t want any surprises, ask, “¿Cuánto cuesta la tarifa por noche?” (How much is the nightly fee?).
Electricidad — Some marinas charge extra for shore power, so it’s worth asking, “¿Está incluida la electricidad en la tarifa?” (Is electricity included in the fee?). Otherwise, you could end up sitting in the dark, rationing your last bit of battery like a shipwreck survivor.
Agua potable — Not all marina water is drinkable, and the last thing you want is to fill your tank with something that smells like it came straight out of a fishmonger’s drain. If you need fresh water, ask, “¿Podemos llenar nuestro tanque con agua potable?” (Can we fill our tank with drinking water?).
Combustible — Fuel. The one word you really don’t want to forget when you’re running low. If you see a marina but aren’t sure if they have a fuel dock, ask, “¿Tienen combustible aquí?” (Do you have fuel here?) before you go running on fumes.
Duchas y aseos — Showers and toilets. Before handing over a single cent, I always check, “¿Dónde están las duchas y los aseos?” (Where are the showers and toilets?). Some of these places, I swear, haven’t seen a mop since the days of Columbus. Walk in and you’d be expecting to see a rat wearing a life jacket.
Astillero — If your boat needs fixing, you’ll be dealing with an astillero (shipyard). If you need repairs, ask, “¿Dónde está el astillero más cercano?” (Where is the nearest shipyard?)—and be ready for the bill.
Proa — The front of the boat. When docking, you might hear “Entren de proa” (Come in bow-first). If you mess it up, expect some eye-rolls from the marina staff.
Popa — The back of the boat. “Atracar de popa” means stern-in docking, which some marinas insist on. If you get it wrong, you’ll be the afternoon’s entertainment.
Eslora — The length of your boat. You’ll need to give this when booking a mooring. “Nuestra eslora es de 12 metros” (Our boat is 12 meters long). If you get it wrong, you might end up crammed into a berth fit for a dinghy.
Manga — The beam (width) of your boat. Another key measurement for marinas. If your boat is too wide for the spot, they won’t be shy about telling you.
Defensas — Fenders. You’ll need them, especially when squeezing into tight Spanish harbors. If you forget to put them out, you’ll get a mira este idiota look from the dockhands before they come rushing to stop you from wrecking someone’s boat.
I’ve been looking at Spanish classes, but they take a few weeks, and we really want to get to Barcelona by summer. Maybe once we’re there, we’ll check out a language school. We even found one language school in Barcelona that has Spanish courses and day trips, so learning while out and about could work for us – check it out here.
Liam’s Take
While Ryan’s been wandering around muttering Spanish verbs like some kind of lost scholar, I’ve been properly enjoying Porto.
The city is an absolute feast for the eyes—and the stomach. We wandered through the Ribeira district, where the buildings lean over narrow cobbled streets, past restaurants grilling bacalhau (salt cod) over open flames. We took the rickety old tram out to Foz do Douro, where the river meets the Atlantic, and watched the waves crash against the lighthouse.
And of course, we couldn’t leave Porto without visiting a port wine cellar. We did a tasting tour in Vila Nova de Gaia, where the big port houses—like Sandeman and Graham’s—store their barrels. By the third glass, I understood why people get so poetic about this city.
Much as we love Portugal, this language is doing my head in.
Trying to get by with Spanish here is like showing up to a céilí wearing two left shoes—nothing fits.
Spanish is bad enough, but Portuguese? Jaysus, it’s like Spanish had a few too many and now it’s slurring at us. So, we’re heading to Lisbon, then around the Algarve, and straight into Cádiz. Spain, we’re coming back for you—and this time, Ryan might even get his words right.
Until next time,
Ryan & Liam
The Ocean Bois
