Puerto Pobre - Felix Rico

I set my alarm clock for the next morning to take the train at 10:25 instead of taking the ferry at 12:00. I pack everything because I either continue directly to Gibraltar or maybe I can stay on the boat until we sail. Up in the kitchen, the French Amondine tells me excitedly about a friend who waited for a boat in Cádiz for only one day. I mean, she was definitely very lucky and as a woman, you have better chances anyway. Especially if you don't have much sailing experience. Amondine criticizes my negative expectations, but I think she misunderstands me and that I do believe that it is also possible for me. She tells me about a woman with a house who is looking for someone to help her. Maybe this could be an option for the two weeks of waiting.

I hurry to the train station and catch the train. From the train station in Puerto de Santa Maria, I walk quickly for just over an hour, first through the city and then along the beach route like the day before. Just not rolling as smoothly. This time, I don't need to look up the way anymore. The sun is shining, the sky only has a few small clouds left. I walk, this time with my backpack, in shorts and a T-shirt, and pass by all the walkers. There are still a few pull-ups left at the pull-up bar on the side of the road. 

In my head, I play through the different scenarios. The thought that it won't work out and that Gibraltar won't be any better and that I will end up flying puts pressure on me. I don't want to fail. I think of Amondine and try to prepare myself for what's to come and not to get too tense. It helps. I walk more lightly and enjoy what is here now. The sun, the ocean, two legs on my body, and a back that carries my backpack. That's already great!

At Puerto Sherry, I go to Pier F as agreed and want to call the lady from the lighthouse at the door, when an older Spaniard opens the door from the inside. How courteous!

Now I am on these jetties and so close to all the sailboats. I am looking for a Swiss flag. At the end of the jetty, a middle-aged man with a younger man with long curly hair on a modern catamaran is busy. It is definitely 8 meters wide and over 20 meters long. The older one is cleaning the shiny surface of the sailboat with a high-tech air pressure thing, while the younger one is fiddling around with a sponge. They are speaking in a Swiss dialect about their activity. I sneak a little closer and watch them until one of them notices me. I greet both of them in German and ask the older one if he is Egon and that I was at the lady's house at the lighthouse yesterday. He immediately knows what it's about and in the next sentence, he says that it won't work. His sailboat has a leak and they haven't been able to fix it for several weeks. Since his catamaran is still relatively new, he wants to take it to his shipyard in France. In the best case, everything will be ready to go again in four weeks. But until then, he doesn't want to promise anyone anything, as Nanu later tells me.

I am bewildered. At the same time, I nod and agree understandingly. Nanu, the young man my age, will also make his way to the Canary Islands by ferry. A ship with his crew, sailing to the Caribbean, is expecting him there in a week.

Then everything is clear. For now, I will stay in place and process the news. The other two continue their work. I put my things down and talk to them again because I still have questions. But that has to wait for now because the finely lacquered surface of the boat urgently wants to be polished to a high gloss. That could take a while, according to Egon.

So I sit on the wooden jetty like a stranded sailor and lean against a metallic box that may serve as storage for some things. I eat cheese and carrots. The sun is pretty hot, so I hide in the shade of a thick, rusty pillar that protrudes from the harbor basin.

After some time, Nanu comes to the jetty with a cigarette in hand. He takes his time and tells me everything he knows about sailhiking. He himself was on the way two years ago and got stuck in the Caribbean at the beginning of the pandemic and is now trying a second attempt.

Back then, he followed the coast of Spain southwards and visited every port until he had success after one and a half months through an internet platform and got a ride. Initially, it was only a short distance because of not-so-nice people, but it was enough to move faster afterwards and get to the Canary Islands. One and a half months! I listened attentively. Nanu spent three hours a day on Facebook, crewbay, findacrew, and other websites, messaging people, making posts, updating everything every few days, and spending a lot of time being present on the web. Cadiz is not good for sailhiking because people from Northern Europe, Britain, Germany, etc. stop in Faro or Lagos along the Portuguese coast before heading to the Canary Islands. Everything from the Mediterranean stops in Gibraltar/La Linea. Cadiz, located right in the middle, looks rather poor in that regard. However, Nanu also had bad experiences in Gibraltar, and on the Portuguese coast, they are currently dealing with orcas attacking sailboats, so many people don't stop there either. Nanu is friendly and we say goodbye, maybe see you in Colombia. He goes back to the boat and I sink back into the realm of supposed reality.

I head back to Puerto de Santa Maria. I feel sluggish and my head is burning. My head has become hot from the sun, from staring at the phone, from thinking and being confronted with failure. I don't want to fail. But I also don't want to hang around forever and feel like time is running out. Then I'd rather take the ferry and take another look in the Canary Islands, if I can gain experience with island-hopping there and then cross over. Or fly. I feel the inner compulsion, my ego, which has built up around the idea of this adventurous sailing journey. All the expectations that don't want to be disappointed, including yours, dear reader. Imprisoned by the idea, I take a break on the beach and jump into the water to cool off and wash away what I don't want to have. Feeling slightly frustrated, I continue walking towards the entrance of Puerto de Santa Maria into a harbor bar-restaurant. Reggaeton is playing from the speakers, families, friends, some groups sit at high tables by the harbor under the open sky. I order a double espresso and want to light a cigarette. At the same time, I frantically type on my phone to continue organizing. Suddenly, my data runs out and I haven't downloaded the app to recharge it. Everything takes forever, and I can't enjoy anything. Maybe except for the coffee, which is already quite enjoyable. It's nice and black and gives my body something that makes me a bit less sensitive to the frustration and effort. Eventually, the thing works again and I continue. At a spot that caught my attention in the previous days, I take off my backpack again and hang the rings. I swing around and jump over fallen palm trunks. In the meantime, my trip to Algeciras is clarified, as well as my accommodation in a cheap Airbnb.

I come back to myself. I sit on the ground and can slowly breathe deeper again. It will somehow work out, and if it doesn't work out here, then it was an attempt for me, and I will find another way. That's just how it is. How different one's attitude towards something can be - and how much it has changed in me today!

So I'm still in the game. But I don't feel as obsessed anymore. I receive a reply from an Italian sailor who is already taking another person, a 28-year-old, but shows openness to meeting me in La Linea at the end of the week, weather permitting in Aguadulce, where they are. I walk to the train station, where the meeting point for the BlaBlaCar is. At the Kiosko de la estación, I ask the smoke-filled bar next to the drunken players for a few olives. The host is happy about my request and doesn't want any money for the bowl of olives he scoops out of a jar. A gift.

It's been dusk for quite some time when the red Fiat arrives at the train station. There is a lot of chatting during the ride - about the ferry to Tangier, which departs from Algeciras. I am a passenger and say goodbye to everyone at the beginning of the one-hour journey, closing my eyes.

It's bright in Algeciras. The harbor is much bigger than in Cádiz, and half of the city consists of this glowing crane landscape on concrete. On the way through the blinding darkness, I treat myself to some roasted chestnuts at the intersection. At Michael's apartment, I have my own room, and I share the bathroom with people from three other rooms. I feel upgraded by the new privacy of having my own room. I eat and talk on my bed. It feels good. It's quiet around me, and only a small bedside lamp keeps me awake. The day was also an inner journey. I am grateful to feel more clarity and calmness again. The future has stopped pressuring me for now, and I am allowed to sink into the land of dreams filled.

https://youtu.be/B7PnQBn5k_E

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