REACHING THE MEDITERRANEAN
The south facing Atlantic coast – the Algarve, and south Spain – is already much easier sailing. Avoiding the major tourist centres, last camp in Portugal is on an island that, were it not for the clarity and intense turquoise of the water, and differing vegetation, could almost be mistaken for those of Northern Europe’s Wadden Sea. Good winds allow some splendid days, including a best yet run of, by least generous measurement method, 86 nautical miles.
And then I am on the beach at Tarifa. Hundreds of kites fill the sky; some waiting-for-wind windsurfers come to shake my hand – that’s nice. A friend and family show up and we have time to down a couple of Coca-Colas before I thread my way out through the maze of taut kite lines and head once again to open water and the straits. There is time, and conditions are right, to reflect on how far has been sailed, as current and wind pull me through to the Mediterranean. Africa, to my right, is a shorter distance away than the daily fjord crossings of Norway I made at the start of the expedition.