See you again, Spain.
Arriving to a mountanious country
Foggy mountain on a september day
We arrived in Spain on September 15, 2023, and with only a month and a half in Portugal, this means we have spent almost 8 months on Spanish soil. From Hondarribia in the north, we followed the Iberian Peninsula's coastline toward Portugal, along the Algarve coast, through the Strait of Gibraltar, up towards Denia, and further to Ibiza, Mallorca, and finally Menorca.
We arrived in Spain with dark clouds behind us after 90 tough nautical miles under engine power from Arcachon. The sun had set over the Atlantic, and in the encroaching darkness, we quietly slipped into the harbor at Hondarribia, the first port on Spanish territory.
It was clear that late summer had followed us during the long motorized sail from Royan to Hondarribia via Arcachon. The cool mornings with dew on the deck became a regular welcome as we woke up, and as the hours passed, the warmth and sunny hours returned.
However, the days were noticeably different from our time in France. The damp and cool climate of the northern Spanish mountains dominated the days, and rain-filled days were now not uncommon.
Hondarribia offered a cultural shift, and as we moved along the coast towards A Coruña, we were repeatedly overwhelmed by the culture, the landscape, and especially the Spanish people.
Several times we considered spending the winter on the northern coast, but the dream of reaching the Mediterranean by spring made us pursue the northwestern corner of Spain.
Caught on the northwesterly shore of Spain
But before we could round the corner, we were caught in Sada. One autumn storm after another tugged at our moorings, and as time passed, there were fewer and fewer opportunities to sail on.
Our time in Sada wasn't planned—this wasn't the harbor we had intended to spend the winter in, and for a long time, we could feel the disappointment affecting our mood.
Fortunately, we were moored alongside boats and people who, over the winter, would become "our friends from Sada," and among us, there's now a motto—"if we could survive Sada, we can handle anything."
Sada was tough. Really tough. But again, the Spaniards we met made the experience something truly special and unique. As time went by, we celebrated Halloween, and several of our good friends sailed further south. We went home to Denmark for Christmas, and when we returned to the boat in January, we quickly sailed on to the Spanish Rías. The journey along the "coast of death" was, like the rest of northern Spain, breathtakingly beautiful. With large cliffs plunging straight into the depths of the Atlantic and waves crashing against the shore, it wasn't hard to imagine how difficult this stretch must have been to navigate before modern navigation tools.
Even with all the navigational aids in the world, we found it difficult.
Almost ending our journey
We arrived at the Rías out of season. The beaches were deserted, and in the cafés and restaurants, only the locals were enjoying the peace and mild weather, giving us a unique insight into a region off-season.
For several weeks, we sailed around the Rías. In particular, Ría de Vigo was, for a time, a lovely place to sail around, where we weren't pressured by the Atlantic's waves, and we could explore the stories of Jules Verne’s *Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea*.
But with the Mediterranean as our goal, the time came to move on toward Portugal. Portugal was a brief visit, with our only stop in Viana do Castelo, as we had weather windows to sail further south.
But in Figueira da Foz, our Atlantic voyage ended. Tristan's knee injury put a stop to our plans to sail further south. It was a bit of luck in disguise, as we were all thoroughly exhausted from the Atlantic by that point—tired of the waves, tired of sailing close to the coast, and most of all, tired of constantly having to stay updated on orcas and new "interactions."
Back in Spain - But a very different Spain
When we resumed our journey, it was back on Spanish soil, and suddenly, the culture felt entirely different. Fuengirola was (for us, at least) a true nightmare compared to the Spanish north coast, and as we moved north along the coast, we got a heavy dose of the Costa del Sol, pig roasts, and not least, tasteless mass tourism. It wasn't until we reached Denia that we noticed a significant change, and the charm slowly returned. We would have liked to stop in Cartagena, but as had happened before, the wind and weather didn't allow it.
There's no doubt that we've grown really fond of Spain during our trip, especially the northern coast. We had always hoped to visit touristy places out of season, but for various reasons, it just wasn’t possible. So, even on the Balearic Islands, we found ourselves surrounded by an endless stream of tourists, charter boats, and tour boats.
We knew the tourism wave would come, but it hit us hard, making it easy to grow a bit tired of it all—especially when many who visit a country for a short period clearly show little respect for others. In that context, we understand why more and more Spaniards are starting to push back against the hordes of (especially) Northern Europeans who claim their cities.
But amid all the tourism and summer heat, we found another little haven. On the east coast of Mallorca, there's a small cove where you can anchor or use one of the sailing club’s mooring buoys. The price is reasonable, and most importantly, it doesn't feel touristy. It seems like a place people seek out if the weather turns bad—otherwise, you mostly have it to yourself—and we quickly ended up spending over a month in Portocolom, with only a short trip to Mallorca’s north coast and a visit to Menorca.
A hidden gem - Right in the middle of tourism
Menorca is the place to go if you want to avoid mass tourism. As soon as you cross the strait between Mallorca and Menorca, the calm sets in. Anchorages are quieter—and significantly deeper—but the towns are also more peaceful. Though we never made it around the entire island, the northern coast of Menorca particularly values nature, with large parts of the coastline being a nature reserve. We really would have liked to spend more time on Menorca, diving and exploring nature, but one of the reasons we returned to Portocolom was that Tristan needed to go back home for a final knee operation after his injury in Figueira da Foz, and we knew Portocolom was a safe and secure place to stay while he was in Denmark with Betina.
After almost two months on the Balearic Islands, on August 22, we lifted anchor in Portocolom and set sail for Sardinia. Our first stop was Menorca, where we stayed the night and refueled. We had previously visited the town when we were in Fornells and took the bus into town, but arriving in the last sunshine of the day and seeing the many lights beautifully illuminating the town almost made us reconsider whether to sail to Sardinia or spend a few days in Maó. But with the weather promising calm seas, we had to seize the opportunity to move on before the next storm was just around the corner. The forecast wasn't promising for pure sailing, but compared to sailing in waves (over 0.5 meters) on our first night passage, and with nearly a full moon during the crossing, we decided to settle for the calm conditions.
And early in the morning of August 23, we left the beautiful harbor of Maó, setting course for Sardinia, with a "goodbye and see you again" to Spain.
