The year started in Strandhill, Sligo, Ireland, where Helen and I celebrated New Year.

For those who don’t know Helen, let me introduce her. In 2023 I crossed the Atlantic in Anjea for the second time with Merel and her dad Hugo. While we were preparing in Bermuda, Merel commented that the young solo sailor on the boat behind us was Irish, like her. We met up with Mark and found that, like us, he was waiting for good weather to cross to the Azores so we exchanged details and agreed to stay in contact. When we got to Faial in the Azores we met up again and Mark introduced us to his mum, Helen, who had flown out from Ireland for a summer holiday. Helen explained that she had not yet booked a flight home as she wasn’t sure how long she would stay in Azores. I knew she was a sailor and I was keen to get a third crew member for the leg from Azores to Ireland as Hugo would leave the boat to fly home, so I invited her to join us.

When we got to Ireland Helen returned home to Sligo while I stayed on Anjea in Cahersiveen (pron: car-siveen). Over the next few months we communicated regularly and her visits to Cahersiveen became more regular. I was not, initially, looking for a relationship. But she was persistent, I found her company stimulating and enjoyable, and we have been together since.

The West Coast of Ireland can be a wild place, with rough edges. People can be gruff but are generally happy, kind and helpful. The scenery is stunning, with rugged coastlines, rolling green hills, and dramatic cliffs. And the surf along the Atlantic coast is legendary amongst big-wave surfers.

At Helen’s place in Strandhill, to retain a bit of fitness and some sanity while land-bound I climb Knocknarea (pron: nock-na-ray) three times a week, more if I can. It’s a 9km walk from her place to the top of the mountain and down again, and it’s 300m up. When the weather is good, the views out over the Atlantic Ocean to the west and the rough green farmland to the east are spectacular. The land is rolling and dotted with small farms, stone walls, ancient stone rings, and occasional cottages. It’s not the lush green of Ireland’s midlands, but it’s beautiful in its own rugged way.

Ireland in winter is a damp, cold place. The days are short and the weather is often miserable. So we are going to Portugal for 2 weeks!!! Helen booked flights from Dublin to Faro $25.70 one way no bags. We paid extra for a bag between us.

On the way to the airport we stopped in Dublin to visit The Book of Kells — a 1,200 year-old illuminated manuscript, a bible. The exhibition promotes the theory that it was written on Iona in the Hebrides off Scotland. Vikings raided the place around 800, probably not for the first time. The guys working on it decided they wanted a Viking-free future and so skipped south to Kells in Ireland and took the book with them.

We did get to see something that purported to be the book but it had clearly been reconstructed with what looked to me like 3-ply wooden covers and very new-looking white binding.

After all that fuss about one book we visited Trinity College library at the University of Dublin, which didn’t have a single book in it! Apparently the library building itself needs work and so they shifted all the books out. It’s a while now since I read a book and I wonder if I ever will again.

Next day we are up early to catch the flight to Faro in the Algarve, southern Portugal. The flight is packed with tourists just like ourselves. I am seated over the wing next to a father and little daughter (4 or 5). Opposite me are some drunken Irish: a grandmother, mother, and young son (6-ish), and in front of them a group of loud lads who were so disruptive the air hostess threatened to stop the flight from taking off unless they shut up and paid attention to her safety drill. But it’s Ryanair so they’re used to the Irish!

Landing in Faro was a pleasure! A small airport with friendly and simple procedures. We were thru with formalities in an instant, into a taxi and off to the station for the train to Tavira.

The moment Helen and I stepped off the train in Tavira I was in love with the place. This is my first experience of mainland Portugal and it has the same vibes that resonated so deeply with me in Brazil and The Azores.

Tavira is a small town of about 26,000 people on the Algarve coast in southern Portugal. It has a rich history dating back to Roman times and is known for its charming old town, beautiful beaches, and relaxed atmosphere. The town is situated on the banks of the Gilão River and is surrounded by picturesque hills and countryside.

The cobbled streets made towing the wheely bag almost impossible so I elected to carry it. We staggered thru town for the 12 minute walk to Alegria B&B.

The B&B is in an old apartment block up five flights of stairs. You enter the apartment into the kitchen/dining/living area. There are also a couple of bedrooms off this. But our bedroom is up a further set of outside stairs to a patio with another bedroom and en suite. The whole place is beautifully renovated and decorated and the patio catches the sun in the south. It’s perfect.

We eat at the restaurant next door. It’s cheap and good, and not too touristy.

Our two weeks in Portugal were just perfect. The weather was warm and sunny, the people friendly, the food excellent and cheap, and the scenery stunning.

It’s -3°C in Makkum and, sadly, my air plant has died. Amazingly, the Aloe Vera is fine.

There is a knock on the saloon roof. I look up and it’s a couple of very smart dark uniforms. I invite them aboard and they introduce themselves as Koninklijke Marechaussee (Royal Military Police). They are very polite and friendly, as Dutch typically are, and want to see the boat’s papers and my passport. When I asked what triggered their visit they said it was the boat’s AIS signal. On returning to the boat I just switched everything on, including the AIS navigation system, which they picked up and wondered about because it appeared as a foreign-flagged vessel that simply popped up in Makkum.

My main reason for coming to Makkum had been to engage Marlon Huisken to make a new dodger for Anjea. With that accomplished I flew back to Ireland.

If you are wondering about all the to-and-fro between Ireland and Makkum, partly it’s because the boat’s in Makkum and Helen lives in Ireland, and partly it’s because the European Schengen Rules allow me to stay in the Schengen Area for a maximum of 90 days in any 180 day period. Serendipitously, Ireland is not in Schengen and I have a British passport as well as an Australian one so I can stay there as long as I like on my British passport. So long as I use the Aussie passport to enter Schengen and the British one to enter Ireland and I respect the 90/180 limit I can manage quite well.

Helen and I drive up the West Coast of Ireland from Sligo to Burtonport.

Cafe Burtonport is wonderful! We order fish and chips. Fresh fish, great batter, excellent chips, tartare sauce and a nice little salad. As we finish a couple of women sit down at the table opposite. One is quite old and the other middle-aged. The middle-aged woman comments "I see you’re enjoying the best fish n chips in town" with which we both heartily agree. From there the conversation blossoms. Her name is Suzanne Victoria Wainwright and she is an actor and poet, but most of all she is a musician and runs the Rosses Pop Choir in Burtonport. She is 65 (hard to believe!) and the older woman is her mum Jeanie who is 95 and sharp as a tack! It is a real pleasure to make their acquaintance and we swap details.

Next day we visit the village of Drumshanbo where we drive out to Acres Lake and walk the canal out and back. It is cold but clear and dry. Today we lunch at the the Jackalope Cafe on tasteless fish before enjoying a guided tour of the local distillery. 

Figure 7. Acres Lake

PJ Rigney is the main man at The Shed distillery. He had the idea for the distillery and has created a whole mythology around 'Drumshanbo' including the gunpowder gin, single pot whiskey, sausage tree vodka etc. Clever marketing man, chock full of sweet Irish bullshit.

I didn’t care for the whiskey, but their gin is great. Use Three Cents tonic water to bring out the flavor of the gin, they say, but Helen prefers it with Schweppes Indian Tonic. Either way it’s a great gin.

In late March we head to England to visit Roy who now lives on his narrowboat in Lancashire. I first met Roy in Tanga, Tanzania in 2019. Roy meets us at the bus stop in Tarleton and we walk to the boat. It’s a renovated narrowboat, 6'3" wide and about 50' long nicely decked out inside with a briquette stove, hot water and comfortable sleeping arrangements.

I first met Roy in Tanga,Tanzania. He was already on his fourth circumnavigation on his 30' home-built concrete boat Sea Loone. Sea Loone would’ve been fine in the tropics but now in his 80’s Roy has decided to settle down in England and needs something more appropriate for the climate.

Roy is a larger-than-life character, full of stories and adventures from his many years at sea. He has a great sense of humor and is always up for a good chat.

The day turns out nicely and so we walk along the canal. A few hundred metres along we stop to chat with another canal-dweller, Mark, and partner Natasha. After some argy-bargy between Roy, Mark and Scott it is decided that Mark will fire up the BBQ.

So on our return from the canal walk we make a quick trip to the off-license for beer and wine and settle in for a barbie by the canal. The weather is warm and still — totally un-English in every way. Subtly not Australian tho, despite the barbie and we all enjoyed it immensely.

From Tarleton Helen and I go separate ways. I head to Makkum again and she to Ireland. I catch the Preston bus, train to Manchester, EasyJet to Schiphol, and train again to Hindeloopen.

As I sit down on the Hindeloopen train an older American man with a walking stick sits down next to me and asks where first class is as he can’t seem to find it. I laugh and tell him that I had once 'found' first class on a Dutch train and been promptly booted out for lack of an appropriate ticket. He laughs and we chat.

He is heading for Groningen. Now about the only thing I know about Groningen is that it is an ancient university town, and that the university is still very alive and active. So I accuse him of being an academic and he admits his area of research is Cognitive Archaeology. I do a double-take as I have just read a short article about how Neanderthals had bigger brains than us and the claim had stuck with me as anomalous, so we launch into a discussion and he forgets about first class. I want to push him about why the big brains of Neanderthals didn’t win out over our smaller brains but all he would say was that our brains are more efficient than Neanderthals'.

I leave the train in Hindeloopen and catch a bus to Makkum. Along the way I wonder what the Cognitive Archaeologists of the future will make of homo sapiens. I was so absorbed in my own thoughts that when I got out at my stop I didn’t have a clue where I was — I glanced around and was utterly lost. So I consulted Google Maps and saw that my Jumbo Supermarket was just over the road. I looked up and like magic there it was! Instantly, everything popped! I was home in Makkum! Weird. I must be careful talking to Cognitive Archaeologists in future.

The following days were spent arranging details of a new dodger for Anjea. Marlon will build the structure in aluminium and I’ll order toughened glass windows from TopWindows. Plastic is a lot cheaper but nothing beats glass for visibility and longevity.

I had spent most of my time over the Irish winter designing the dodger using OnShape, an online CAD tool that runs in a browser. It’s fabulous! One of the most amazing pieces of software I’ve seen and, if you don’t mind your design being online and public, it’s free!

I sent the final design to Marlon to build in aluminium and another copy to Topwindows for the glass, said a little prayer that the two would eventually marry, and headed off to Suriname with Helen to help deliver a friend’s yacht to Portugal.