On the beach within half an hour of mooring in Portosín. Enough said? Probably not … you should be so lucky.
We decided to leave Camariñas almost no matter what, after a number of factors
- southerly winds (we want northerlies) with persistent rain then drizzle
- at least the unfavourable weather gave us time to catch up with our blog, but eager for warmer waters and sunnier skies further south
- mediocre supermarkets / restaurants / shops
- underwhelmed by Galician fare (tapas, raciones or other) so far, where establishments persist in avoiding serving the well-cooked fresh seafood we naively expect to be the norm, with bread the sole exception – the torta from the only bakery in town is excellent
- almost every shop seemed to sell lace, although credit to the hardware store’s efforts in the absence of any chandlery
- lack of alternative activities (one beach, no playground or parks to speak of)
had curbed our enthusiasm, so fully aware there was likely to be swell with wind on the nose we left the “capital of lace” (definitely seeking to appeal to a different demographic ) and headed out into the Atlantic, perhaps naively allowing the children breakfast.
An hour later all three buckets had been used, with a short 2+ metre swell on the nose then abeam as four days’ worth of westerlies / south-westerlies piled into the shallows of the ria entrance. Poor children. The general mood of sickness or guilt (children / parents respectively) brightened when we saw our first pilot whale abeam as we motored down towards Finisterre.
Still an hour or two later the sea state had settled (a bit …), and as we rounded Finisterre the wind dropped, the sun peeped out, the swell had evolved into a longer wavelength and period, and we had Mille Bornes and then Uno out in the cockpit and Skippette relaxing.
A second pilot whale turned up on the approach to Ría de Muros with dolphins going the other way, and once safely moored and on the beach in the evening sunshine we were very pleased to have decided not to wait any longer.