At Anchor at Last
05 September 2007 | Ayamonte
The marina at Albufeira is pleasant but expensive (48 euros/night) and the 15-20 minute walk to town is a drag on a hot day. Albufeira is known as the St. Tropez of the Algarve...which really means there are toooo many tourists.... We enjoyed exploring the alleyways and watching the people. Christopher and I had one night on the town after the girls went back to the boat, checking out the live entertainment in the bars. The last bar was the best, with a group of young guys from the UK playing Nirvana and Metallica at extremely high volume in a small room. It was fun.
Everyone in the family was anxious to get to Spain and we had hoped to sail directly from Albufeira to Chipiona. There was one problem- every time we phoned Chipiona to try to reserve a berth in the marina, we were told to phone back later. We tried them enroute and still no luck-and there didn't seem to be an anchorage near Chipiona. The seas were a bit choppy so we opted to divert to Faro/Olahau. This is a river entrance and the tide was on the way in. From a distance, we could see whitecaps breaking at the entrance, but we decided to give it a try since there appeared to be lots of depth. As we closed to the entrance, we experienced breaking waves of 4-6 feet where the incoming tide met the river current. Once inside, everything calmed down.
The Imray guide suggests three possible anchorages in this area, but some of the options looked too shallow and we were concerned about getting trapped by the tide. We opted to drop the hook off the island of Culatra, in 16 feet with a mud/sand bottom, among boats from France, Spain and Ireland. Culatra ended up being a nice choice. It was great to be at anchor at last, and away from the Algarve marinas.
There is a small village on shore- just paths, and no cars, but with a few small restaurants/bars. The island is part of a nature preserve and a boardwalk has been constructed through the town and across a salt marsh to a beautiful beach. As we walked through, there were children playing in small alleyways, women were working in open-air kitchens, and a man was making a fishing net by hand.
The next morning, as I was having my coffee on deck, I watched an elderly man wearing an old ball cap row into the anchorage in a dilapidated row boat, rowing slowly with very short strokes. He started fishing using a handline, and was quickly joined by two or three gulls who slowly circled the boat, watching closely. He had a slow and practiced jig, and within minutes he had hauled in a small fish, and continued to do so every few minutes as I watched. I suspect the fish were sardines, based on the size. Being at anchor really is so much nicer than sitting in marinas.
But Spain was still beckoning, and Katherine's departure date was imminent, so we had to move on. We were still unable to get a confirmed berth in Chipiona so we headed for Ayamonte, about 15 miles east, in the bay of Huelva (just across the river from Portugal's Vila Real de San Antonio). The entrance to this river was uneventful and although we had a depth reading of only 12 feet about a mile offshore, the channel deepened as we got closer. Ayamonte is also a nice marina and since marina prices in Spain tend to be lower a boat of Aisling's size costs only 27 Euros/night. That only works if they have a berth of the proper size though- and since the only available berth was a size up, we ended up paying 47 Euros for the first night, with a promise that we would likely be moved to a smaller berth the next morning.
Since we were back in tapas territory, we wandered into the town in the evening and tried out a few small plates- but overall it was a bit disappointing. The take-our barbecued chicken across from the marina was more successful- and if we made a few blunders in switching from Portuguese to Spanish, no one seemed to mind.
Katherine has only a few days left, and we want to do some shore-based exploring before she leaves. So, the next morning, we started packing and tried to get the boat relocated to a less expensive berth. Several trips to the marina office resulted in the same response- come back in an hour- even though we could clearly see several empty slips Finally the reason was explained- the person in charge has to physically walk around the docks and count the spaces before a booking can be made- if he isn't there, nothing can be confirmed. It seems that the Spanish bureaucracy can be equally as confusing as the Portuguese!
We'll write more about our road trip later. In the meantime, all the best from Aisling 1.