Portugal

Ryan The morning looked innocent. Flat light, gulls acting like they owned the place, chain lying like a good dog. That’s when you do the work—the boring stuff you only notice when it fails. I started at the bow because that’s where the night talks back. Snubber off, fingers on the splice, no heat, no […]

Liam’s Take Didn’t move. Wind was nothing. Anchored holding fine. Swell wrapped around a bit, but I’ve slept worse in a car park in La Coruña. Tightened the topping lift, cleaned the scuppers. Solar’s working again. One of the stern lines smells off. I’ll bleach it later. Mam rang. Asked if we were back on

Liam’s Take Left early. I wanted distance before the wind backed. Forecast showed 15 knots NW with gusts to 20 around the cape. PredictWind said 25. Navtex said 12. I trust none of them. The truth is always somewhere between the numbers and your stomach. We were motor sailing for the first few hours. Swell

Liam’s Take Stayed another day. The forecast’s clean but I wanted a proper check before rounding Cape St. Vincent. It’s not a tricky headland, but it’s known for making easy things hard when you’re not paying attention. Started the morning with gear checks. Winch oil. Reefing lines. The lazy jacks were catching again — I

Liam’s Take We hadn’t planned to stay. But by the time we’d flushed tanks, checked filters, and found the decent showers, it was too late to move. Ryan mentioned food. I said he could cook. We ended up walking. Lagos at night was louder than I expected. Rua 25 de Abril was full of buskers,

Liam’s Take Left Portimão early. Forecast was decent — light offshore wind building through the day. It held. One reef in, a bit of heel, quiet sailing. No dramas. Might’ve even enjoyed it if we hadn’t had Lagos in mind. Marina’s well-run. Everything works. You get the code to the showers without having to beg.

Liam’s Take We left early. First light, just enough wind to make it worthwhile. It was backing southeast by mid-morning, so I wanted to clear the river mouth and be moving before it dropped. Ryan looked rough. He always does when we leave anywhere before breakfast. I’d prepped the night before — fuel, lines, rig.

Ryan’s Take:It started with binoculars. Liam had them out before breakfast, claiming he’d spotted either a dolphin or a bin bag that “looked hopeful.” I was halfway through a soggy cracker when he froze, went quiet, and said, “We’ve got company.” There was a boat. Grey. Official-looking. Fast. With men who did not wave. They

Ryan’s Take:We weren’t supposed to be there. The plan was drinks with Ana and her cousin near the waterfront—normal, tourist‑adjacent, tiled‑wall stuff. But the tram broke down. And Liam decided it was urgent to photograph an alley cat that “looked philosophical.” We wandered uphill, got weirdly quiet, and ended up in front of a place

Liam’s Take It started with laundry. You know it’s time to stop sailing for a minute when your cleanest shirt smells like rope and regret. Ryan sniffed a towel that had seen salt, sweat, and a surprise coffee spill in Porto. He held it up like it might answer for itself. “This needs to be