It’s an early start today, far too early because it’s still dark… But I want to take advantage of the ideal conditions to get ahead. The exit from A Coruna is tremendous: first past the hypermodern double tower, then past the oldest lighthouse in the world still in operation – very impressive, this location. A successful choice to build a settlement here.
Out I go into the wide bay. The sun rises; I look back and enjoy the force of this rising day. And I realise how rarely, if ever, I have looked back during this journey!
Soon I turn my course southwards and pass the westernmost point of Spain, and consequently the westernmost point of mainland Europe: Cap Finisterre. For a long time, Cap Finisterre was considered the westernmost point in Europe. The Romans already determined this – but how could they find out? How could they make such ‘measurements’? (Today we know that a point in Ireland lies a little further west; but the Romans never got that far with their power and administrative apparatus. And even further out in the Atlantic are Iceland and the Azores… But the understanding of space in a global sense must have existed somehow 2,000 years ago to determine Cap Finisterre as the westernmost point. How that was ‘calculated’, I’ll have to read up on one day).
Finished with these thoughts – now I want to turn into the wide bay behind this Cap and soon enter the harbour of Finisterre. It’s a pleasant provincial town; only fishing boats and small private boats are moored in the harbour, and I can already see the petrol station. I’m well on time; should I continue straight away? The sea is kind to me (now I’m talking like this too).
Unfortunately, the petrol station is out of order… It’s Sunday. But that’s not the only reason why there’s no petrol, because only fishermen are served here… Luckily, there are also a few local residents whose highest good seems to be to drop by the harbour on Sunday morning! Because this is where they meet, the friends, away from the church, without their wives, who have known each other since childhood. They want to know everything about me and the ArgoFram, and spontaneously help me. (The port is where news comes from, and today is that time again). By taxi we go to the next petrol station; soon I have refilled all five canisters, I could go on. But the conversations deepen, and to each other’s surprise, one of them, who works as a diver for a well-known construction company in Basel, is on home leave – things happen!
Then I set off into the Atlantic – and for the first time I experience these really long waves (swell!) with an interval of more than 10 seconds. Impressive! 70 % of the water mountains are under three metres, 30 % are higher. But the height alone is not important because the interval is so long (actual waves caused by the wind and lying ‘on’ the swell hardly exist today because there is no wind). The ride therefore feels more like a long roller coaster, so I keep the speed high – and almost run into a reef. I see it very late, or rather it comes closer very quickly (at my speed). That means: Actually, a few hundred metres in front of me I only see a long surf wave with some spray, and I wonder: so far out in the open sea? That’s very unusual. So I slow down, switch to manual steering – and sure enough, there are some very sharp-looking rocks waiting for me. Fortunately, they stick out of the spray. A check on the plotter shows: If I hadn’t used this large scale, but a more detailed, small-scale one, I could have avoided this danger for a long way. (That’s basically what I would do, too, if I had followed the given route precisely. But since my autopilot doesn’t really work and I ultimately do everything by hand, this is exactly what can happen if I deviate a few hundred metres from the ideal line – the second time, by the way; in Finland at the beginning of my maiden voyage I already narrowly missed a reef. And my journey would have been over as soon as it began). Beginner’s luck? Again!
Then I get closer and closer to Baiona. The swell is receding, but at the same time the waves are rising, or rather they are crashing down on me with ever shorter frequency. Half an hour of shaking and I arrive in the picturesque harbour bay – which of the three marinas do I choose?
I take the first one, another Club Real… But OK, everything is fine here, very professional.
I explore the town, have a nap, swim in the sea, have dinner in an alley – all this in the knowledge that I have a rest day tomorrow! The wind will pick up, and I want to absorb the mood here in Galicia for a while, surrender to the rhythm of life. So the next morning I don’t do much at first; laundry, tidying up, cleaning, a stroll through the town, getting food, a midday nap. But then I set off on the bike after all, ride around the whole bay to the next village and past countless beaches to one where surfboard enthusiasts are waiting for the big wave… I go for a swim, even put myself through something, go out far for my standards – it feels wonderful. Breathing succeeds from the start, my fear (of drowning) comes and goes without impressing me or changing my game with the water. Will water become my friend after all? Great.
On the way back, I have a short ‘workout’, do my jumping exercises and push-ups, and soon continue. Shower – and off into the polyphonic ‘nightlife’, into one of the countless alleyway taverns for a delicious paella.
What can I say about Baiona? Today 13’000 inhabitants, but in summer over 45’000! A few years ago, only 4’000 people lived here, permanently, but there was a change and many moved here from Vigo because it was affordable then – population change without Corona, this time.