We at last dragged ourselves away from this noisy, dirty, exuberant, dangerous and vibrant city. Memories of urine along the pissing wall; the caterwauling of the Bosun’s whistle at Capitania do Portos; the tiny black and white fishing birds on the harbour steps and the bittern on the pulpit; the theatre of 7 and 8 year old beggars; flak-jacketed police with their weapons drawn; the insufferable closeness and heat in the ascensor lift; the samba music, always deafening, endless and out of tune; the smiles and endless patience of the beautiful people.
For good measure we (I) wrapped the prop in a mooring line on the way out, so I had the pleasure of a second swim in the harbour. Sort of like a booster immunisation for every infectious disease imaginable. We cut through sloppy seas inside the bank off the lighthouse to save ourselves 10 miles.
A brief and unusual pleasure was the fresh beam breeze and absence of current for the first few hours out of Salvador. By midnight though, it was same old same old.
Today, we have 10 knots of headwind and are motor-sailing in surprisingly balmy conditions. 250 miles to Recife, but I don’t want to stop there. There is a little place inside the reef about 20 miles south which might be a good alternative for a sleep, without the hassle of harbour formalities. We’ll see.