The day starts well. Sun everywhere. A swell of 3.8 metres has been announced on the weather wave apps (that means 70% of the ‘waves’ are under 3.8 metres high…), but as the water mounds are far apart here in the Atlantic, between 10 and 12 seconds, and there is hardly any wind, the trip promises to be extremely entertaining. And doable.

In fact, I glide from one water wave crest to the next, have to slow down now and then (or go ‘diagonally’ because otherwise I take off too much at the culmination point), and I am amazed once again at the serenity with which I sail around here – around because the striking lighthouse of Sagres soon becomes visible, where I adjust my course from south to east, from the Atlantic towards the Mediterranean: I pass the most south-westerly point of the European mainland, a strong feeling!

I’ve been here in Sagres before too, cycling from Porto, standing at this very point, by the lighthouse, and looking down with misgivings at the sea, which awed me fearfully – because the swells were pounding the shore tirelessly and relentlessly at the foot of this cliff. I saw this force of the surging sea and thought ominous things, and yet I said to my companion at the time: this is where I would like to pass then, and greet the lighthouse from below….

That’s what I’m doing now, and from the ‘wrong’ side – the idea was that I would pass by here on the last leg of my circular navigation, entering the Atlantic from the Mediterranean… And now it’s the other way round!

It feels very good.

I am here, at the most south-westerly corner of Europe, and my ArgoFram is carrying me through the waves. Although the rising, all-pervading currents, which I feel with every fibre, once again send a shiver down my spine. The Atlantic and the Mediterranean seem to embrace each other with ever new grips, and I am right in the middle of it!

Beaming with joy, I moor in the small fishing harbour of Sagres, jeeh, done. I feel big and full of energy. I grab my folding bike, ride up past the former maritime school (founded in the 15th century, from where the first West African expeditions set out), past the most famous sausage stand in Portugal to the striking lighthouse, whose light has a range of 90 km and is thus said to be the strongest light in Europe.

There I stand again… I look down into the waves of the surf… And become quiet and very small.

Well then, I want to go on, I ‘must’ get back into the boat later, I haven’t reached my destination yet. Yes, the ArgoFram carries me benevolently (and forgivingly), but I have to steer and decide for myself; staying alert and wide-awake protects against all too nasty surprises… Modesty helps.

Back to the harbour, past the sausage stand again – impossible, this grill cart, but excellently made. And besieged by tourists even in the off-season.

On to Villamora, a very chic harbour in the Algarve, high-class, with large yachts in a prominent location directly behind the harbour entrance, on the pier opposite the luxury hotel where the yacht owners disembark (while the staff trims the boat to a high shine). They banish me to the back of the harbour, even though I would like to be one of them; the ArgoFram is also a yacht, category B (ocean-going), but no one is interested in that here.

So I end up with the have-nots; around me yachts that cost at least twice as much (and look four times more fashionable, are equipped with sound systems and icemakers…) and are presented by surprisingly young people (male, in shorts, with sunglasses and luxuriant hair).  – I have to go take a shower, do a first wash as well; this harbour offers all the amenities, no ifs, ands or buts.

Around the harbour basin, there is strolling, and how! There are many more beautiful people than boats (and there are many boats here, very many); dressed up women and neatly brushed men who stroll along the piers, styled and reverent – to see and to be seen… Until I realise: holidaymakers come here who imagine something wonderful about this world of yachts with their ‘wealthy people’. The people who walk along the piers here almost reverently will never afford a yacht, but they play through in their minds what it would be like if… And so also want to belong a little. (Like me, who doesn’t like to dock in the back ranks).

So these strollers afford one or the other accessory in the overpriced boutiques, but above all they treat themselves to a not exactly cheap meal or a fancy dessert or at least a cool drink in one of the more than two dozen restaurants and bars around the harbour basin. A holiday experience of the upper cubic capacity class (others go to the casino to indulge in the deception).

I, too, immerse myself in this wondrous world, especially the next day: 5-star resort, golf course, magnificent sandy beaches, it’s all there – but after an extended nap, I also ride my bike to the nearby town, where the closely packed hotel castles receive the tourists, who then make their pilgrimage from here back to the harbour towards evening…