Ryan
We came into Portimão just after sunrise. The sea was flat for the first time in days, so quiet it almost felt wrong. The engine had been coughing, low oil smell drifting through the cabin, but we made it in.
The marina looked half empty. Rows of clean charter boats on one side, us on the other, covered in salt and streaks of oil. We tied up fast. Liam went to pay the berth while I started pulling everything apart. The smell of diesel hit before the coffee.
He came back with two pastel de nata from the café near the fuel dock, still warm. We ate in silence, both pretending it wasn’t another repair day. The filter swap took all morning. A simple job, the kind that still takes hours when your hands don’t fit anywhere they need to. The air turned thick with diesel and swear words.
By midday the new filter was in and my knuckles were bleeding from one bolt that wouldn’t move. We sat on deck and watched the harbour. Old fishermen mending nets, a boy fishing with line around a Coke can, laundry hanging from a stern rail. The wind had gone completely. You could almost hear time passing.
We didn’t talk much. I think we’d both run out of things to argue about. The last few days had been nothing but noise. Out here the quiet feels like a gift you’re scared to open.
In the afternoon we walked up to the chandlery, bought a spare filter and a new length of rope. I told the guy behind the counter we were heading south, but I wasn’t sure. Sometimes it’s better not to have a plan.
Back at the boat I turned the key. The engine started first try. That small noise felt like something had gone right for once. Liam grinned, opened two beers, and said nothing. The sky went pink behind the cranes. The smell of sardines drifted across the water. We sat there and didn’t move.
Tomorrow we’ll see. The sea isn’t going anywhere.
Liam
He worries too much about the engine. It’s a boat. Things break. Then you fix them.
Portimão felt lazy in a good way. No one in a rush. I liked that. The pastel de nata were perfect, even if he didn’t notice until the second bite.
He says we stopped arguing. We didn’t stop. We just ran out of reasons. Maybe that’s better.
When the engine started, I saw him smile for the first time in a while. Proper smile, not the half one. I let it be. Some days the win is just that sound.
We’ll go south soon. Or east. Doesn’t matter. What matters is it runs, and so do we.
