AYAMONTE AND THE GUADIANA RIVER

Thursday 2nd July, and I was anchored off a sand spit, just inside the breakwaters that are the entrance to the Guadiana, about a mile downstream of Ayamonte. It was a lovely day and I had arrived here the previous evening at about 5.30 pm from El Rompido. The tide was strong, in fact, it was coming up to full moon and spring tides, and there was a twenty knot south westerly blowing that was keeping me nice and cool. I got the dingy pumped up and launched because I wanted to explore the dunes. I had seen people walking, some with dogs, and although I could see no houses or habitation, it must be linked somehow. Was I interested ? I don’t think so. I rowed ashore and walked a bit. There were lots of shells and lots of small live crabs darting here and there just at the waters edge. I walked around bare foot, and there were the remains of where people have had a barbi. It felt like my own desert island, and I had a good look around but still saw no sign of life, so rowed back to Simo, put the kettle on and worked out my next move. I decided to stay there another night, it was free and I loved it. The next day I needed to get some diesel, as I was running on fresh air and top up with water, then I was set to go up the river. It was about 25 kilometres to get up to San Luca de Guadiana, on the Spanish side and on the Portuguese side, the village is called Alcoutim, So I had a lazy day by the sand spit. In the evening, some guys came and fished off the beach, but I didn’t see them catch anything, and then in the morning, I upped the hook and motored to Ayamonte. I found myself a free finger berth, as I could not find the fuel dock and parked. Just after I got settled, a Swedish yacht came in and went on the pontoon next to me, there were four guys and they all seemed pretty friendly. They very soon got into their running gear and were intending to go off for a run. Just before they went, I asked one of the guys, Thomas, if he knew how to operate a multimeter, he said he did, and asked "What’s the problem?". I told him my autopilot was giving me trouble and he said he would take a look when they had finished the run.

I decide to go up to the office to enquire where the fuel dock was, and was politely told they didn’t have fuel, and if I wanted some, I had to go back across the river to Vila Real De San Antonio. I made a quick decision that I would stay the night and go over in the morning, but just to be sure, would take a couple of 5 litre cans to the local garage and then I would be certain. The price for one night was just under 14 euros, but water and electric were extra. There were three girls in the office, and when the first one asked me how long my boat was, I told her 7.6 meters. She then went on to serve somebody else, and a tall, self assured girl came over to deal with me. Maybe they don’t smile in Ayamonte. She took my registration document and then proceeded to tell me my boat was not 6 metres at all, but 7.6! I started to explain that I had never said it was 6 metres, but she hushed me a few times as if to say I was lying! Out of all three girls, not one told me where the showers were, not one told me I needed a card for the gate, and not one produced a map of the town until I physically asked for it. All they wanted to do, was get rid of the customers who pay their wages so they could get back to their personal chit chat again. I had reason to return to the office later, with a query, and the girl I think, asked the manager to deal with me. I must say he couldn’t have been more helpful. Gripe over.

Back on the boat, the lads had come back from their run, and out came the multi metre. Nicholas spent a good hour sorting out my problem, he is one of those patient men who won’t settle until every stone has been turned to sort out the problem. Lo and behold, I now have a working auto pilot for those motoring days or nights. The lads were off to Greece, and I wished them fair sailing and then took my two cans to the nearest garage and said "fill 'em up". Was I thinking of something else when he said "GASOLINA?". I will never know. The trudge back to the boat was hot and sweaty, and I got the funnel out and unscrewed the filler cap. Then, an amazing thing happened. As I started to pour it in, it all blew back in my face and all over the cockpit seats. I stopped straightaway as I could smell it was petrol, and not GASOIL! I should think that less than a cupful went in, and I realised that SIMO had, once again, saved my skin by ejecting the gasolina.

I met up with Bernardo, his wife and the Vancouver 27, and I told them i was going up river the next day but he seemed uncommitted. Anyway, the next morning it was an early start, about 11am, with a quick trip over to Portugal to get filled up with GASOIL, and a couple of bags of ice, and then I was on my way up river.











It was quite a windy day, and as the wind was coming from the north, we had a wind over tide situation that made it rather choppy at the begining. The river is beautiful, and there are a number of properties on the banks to die for. Little old fincas and suchlike, and a lot had their own moorings and makeshift jetties. Finally, after about three and half hours, we made our destination and just as the tide was turning, dropped the anchor. There seemed to be a bit of debris around in the water, old bamboo shoots and stuff like that. There were all sorts of boats anchored and some on the purposebuilt docks on both sides of the river.








I chilled out for the rest of the afternoon and at about 6 pm I got some visitors. Three little ducks came by. I was eating crisps at the time, and they shared, but I soon went below and found some bread for them. It was stale, but I eat it, so I am sure they didn't mind. After that, they came back every night, and they must have told a mate of theirs, because he came too.




I had a special treat for myself, and I did not share it with the ducks, or anybody else for that matter.



Later that evening I got another visitor. He rowed over to me from his boat and came aboard. The time was about 9 pm, and it was still light. His name was Robert and after some wine from the 5 litre box and a few cups of tea, he stayed until close on 3.00 am. Robert had been, and still is, an adventurer. He has a little finca down river a tad, and comes up with his boat now and again to get the free wi-fi from the local library on the Portugues side. The next day I put up my big reapeatit aerial, and enjoyed skyping Jackie, all for free. Robert ans I talked about all sorts but something was beginning to gel in my head, here was a place that I could stay for free and not have to pay exorbitant marina fees. He also suggested that for a few euros, somebody could look after the boat while I was away. Yeeeeesssssss.
I went ashore the next day, and started to explore, and what I saw, I liked more and more.









After a couple of days, I went with Robert, walking along a cactus filled track to a friend of his called Robin, who he assured me would keep his eye on my boat while i went back to France for a couple of weeks. When we got there, Robin and his wife and two kids had gone off on holiday in their little open boat. They had left the house open, with all the pets and the chickens running around. Robert said that another friend would be putting the chickens away and the pets to bed every night until they came back in about two weeks time, so I would have to wait to sort out the details, but it would be no problem.

The next day, Robert had to fly back to the UK to do a bit of work, and I said that I would give him a lift down the river to Vila Real, so that he could then take a bus to Faro airport. I was to meet him downriver a little bit, at his friends, Christian and Polly's place. He would look out for me on the river bank, and tell me where to anchor. All went well, and I rowed ashore to the little jetty, to be greeted by the family, and Robert, who was cooking for everybody. Christian and Polly and their two kids were checking out one of their veggie patches, which was over near the sheep compound. My first reaction was what a fantastic couple, and what a fantastic place. Not much in the way of water and electricity and certainly no telly, but what a lifestyle.



They had just, that evening, come back from a little sailing holiday, and their yacht lay peacfully on the mooring, just off the jetty. The meal was great, and we had a drop of wine, then it was off to bed and to sleep soundly. I was warned about any snoring from Christian, and he also told me to take some tomatoes from the garden for our trip the following day. At least my boat was downwind, so he would not hear the snoring. In the morning, no complaints, Robert jumped aboard, and off we went downriver, whilst he proceeded to cook a great fried brekkie, albeit no bacon.

We arrived at Vila Real, I dropped him off and then went over to the Spanish side to anchor for the night.



Listen, I've gotta go now, my next stop is Tavira. Look it up on Google Earth. By what I have been told, it is like the Walton Backwaters.

Have fun,
back soon,

Mickey Boy