It may look like chaos, the harbour might appear to be full, but somehow space is always found for yachts arriving at Horta. The Azores are fortuitously placed on the main cruising routes from the South Atlantic, Caribbean and USA to most destinations in mainland Europe, so yachts call by in their hundreds every summer. The harbour is famous for the names and logos of vessels painted onto almost every surface of the seawalls. Fortunately for us, the invasive ARC fleet had been and gone, but we arrived amongst a trickle of yachts that had been evacuated from the small island of Flores due to a severe swell warning. Yachts were rafted three deep along the entire length of the reception dock, and the area for anchoring looked almost full. We tied up temporarily to a Dutch yacht near to the harbour office and stepped ashore to join the queue waiting for it to open after the lunch break. We had cleared all the disparate hurdles set up for us by officialdom around the world but would we fall at the final fence?

There had been a rumour circulating widely amongst European cruisers that VAT might be payable on returning yachts which had been out of the EEC for more than three years, even with proof that it had been paid previously. The word was that this was more likely to happen on entering via one of the poorer countries, including Portugal and, by inference, the Azores. We knew of a number of cruisers who were avoiding these islands for this reason alone. As far as I had been able to establish, the regulation should only be applicable to craft that have been used commercially or changed ownership. The Royal Yachting Association legal department had advised me that we would be safe to enter Europe at a British port, but couldn't vouch for other countries. I had e-mailed José Azevedo (alias 'Peter'), who acts as the local port officer for the Ocean Cruising Club, and he had kindly consulted three local Customs officers on my behalf and was persuaded that VAT would not be charged. It was immediately apparent that the officials have a well honed procedure for admitting visiting sailors. The first person we had to see was the harbourmaster, who entered our details onto his computer and allocated a berth with clear instructions how to find it. The Immigration officer was just across the corridor, and our names were already up on his screen. With a scan of our passports and a ready smile, he welcomed us into Europe and directed us to Customs in the adjoining room. We needn't have worried - I ticked the box on a form declaring that VAT had been paid and, for us, no further questions were asked. We breathed a deep sigh of relief that we and our yacht had legitimately returned to Europe!

We manoeuvred "Egret" stern first into the crowded north basin and made fast alongside "Distant Shores", a large Canadian yacht, three out from the wall. We'd been there a couple of hours when the owner of the inside yacht announced that he wanted to leave at 0530 the next morning. Our first night securely moored after thirteen days at sea and we have to get up at the crack of dawn! Hey, ho - the joys of being back in crowded harbours. We were on deck ready after a short but sweet night, as were Paul and Sheryl on "Distant Shores", but with no sign of the crew of the inside boat. Not being inclined to hang about until they deigned to rise, we knocked them up to remind them they were leaving! Barely had the pair of us re-secured all our lines than a French boat came alongside. The skipper told us that he wanted us to move out of the way so that he could tie up against the wall with the intention of leaving his boat for three weeks! His boat was far too small to go inside the two of us, and in any case we felt that we had done enough moving for one day, so we suggested, in our politest schoolboy French, that he ask the harbourmaster to tell him where to go. He disappeared, and later on we helped a couple of friendly French yachts that were happy to lie outside us. There must have been about 150 visiting cruisers in the two marina basins, with comings and goings every day.

Our first full day in Horta was spent wandering around the narrow streets of the charming old Portuguese city. Cobbled pavements, picked out with white setts in a variety of patterns, connect pretty green squares. The façades of the buildings are painted in pastel shades of green, pink or blue, with detailing such as the balustraded balconies in white whilst the roofs are universally red. The walls of the market are decorated with life-size scenes in blue and white ceramic tiles. One building stands out in marked contrast to the 19th century buildings: the imposing art deco 'Sociedade Amor da Patria', which features delightfully sculpted friezes depicting blue hydrangeas and white roses. The large churches have twin towers with domed or conical roofs, and, as a reminder of the active geology of the island, a chapel stands as a memorial to those who died during the volcanic eruption of 1672. One essential stop was Peter's Café, a favourite haunt of transatlantic sailors, for a plate of sardines, a pasteis de nata (a Portuguese custard tart) and coffee. A few days later, we visited its renowned Scrimshaw Museum upstairs.

We spent the best part of four days getting our maintenance jobs out of the way. For instance this was the first time since St. Helena that I had been able go up the mast in calm enough conditions to make a really thorough check of the rig. We also fixed the oil leak in the engine, serviced the heads, re-sealed a leaking window and replaced a faulty circuit breaker for the masthead light. As the old adage has it: a definition of blue-water cruising is "fixing your boat in exotic locations"! It wasn't all work, of course. For instance, we invited our next door neighbours Paul and Sheryl over for supper one evening. Their boat is named after the title of the television programmes they produce: "Distant Shores", which are broadcast in a number of countries. Making movies about one's travels under sail can't be a bad way of earning a living. The following week, just before casting off to leave Horta, they filmed a short interview with us, so perhaps you'll see us on TV one day!

We had cast off "Anniara's" lines when she left Simon's Town in January, so we were delighted when we saw her arrive in Horta, and invited Göran and Gudrun over for afternoon tea. Then, a couple of days later, we helped "Miss Mae" moor up alongside - we hadn't seen Olof, Christina and children Emil, Luisa and Gustav since the previous October in Mauritius. Whilst Swedes have a probably undeserved reputation for being taciturn and gloomy through the long winter months, come the summer they turn into the wildest of party animals. As the owners of a Swedish-built yacht we had the privilege of being deemed honorary citizens to celebrate mid-summer's day along with several boat-loads of the real Svens and Gretas. We were divided into teams and in the first game had to run a short distance down the quay, lean our forehead against a short stick with the other end on the ground and spin round it six times before attempting to run back. The effect is intoxicating - perhaps the game was invented as an antidote to the price of booze in Sweden. I was glad our lane wasn't on the harbour side of the quay as I could barely stand up after the revolutions, let alone return in a straight line. This was followed by a game to insert a stick on a string into a bottle, and finally a potato - instead of an egg - and spoon race. Afterwards we were allowed to tuck into a feast including Swedish sandwich cake and strawberries, washed down with beer and schnapps. The only items missing were the herrings!