When we wake up it is pouring with rain so although we decide to still set off for a few days around the bay, we don’t rush to do it. After a couple of hours it starts to clear up so Mike and Steve have another go at putting the batten back into the mainsail and this time are successful. It’s an unwieldy great thing though and wobbles around threatening to knock the blades off the wind generator as it goes in.
We untie ourselves from the pontoon and motor out in search of the fuel dock but when we get there it has disappeared. This is not quite as crazy as it sounds as it’s a floating fuel dock which is moored in the middle of the harbour, but we have never seen it move. Mike goes around in circles for a bit looking for it, and then we see it being pushed back towards its mooring by a huge tug. Of course, a motor boat is hot on its heels wanting to be refuelled as well, and we have to wait our turn before being waved over to the other side. There are huge black tyres acting as fenders along the side on the dock and I wince as we slam against them, thrown into position by the wind. I know that when we leave, we will have dirty great black tyre marks all along the side of our once very clean boat. Ah well. We get them to fill up our jerry cans too.
The clouds start to part and blue sky appears although the sea is a bit bumpy as we head off towards Ilha do Frade and Ilha do Bom Jesus – the area between the two islands is meant to be a really lovely anchorage. When we get there, however, there’s an oil refinery on one side, complete with tankers and a beautiful church on the other.
We motor on further along the channel until the refinery is out of sight. Along the way we pass tiny fishing villages and many traditional fishing boats and other local water traffic. One strange sight is a loaded truck sitting on a water barge being pulled along.
Away from the refinery the vegetation closes in on either side. Although over a thousand miles from the Amazon, it’s easy to believe we could be there. The quiet of the little villages we pass is so different from the hustle and bustle of the frantic pace of the city of Salvador that we could be on a different planet. We anchor in a sheltered spot and for the first time in ages, have an anchorage to ourselves (as opposed to having a whole ocean to ourselves).
Although the water isn’t very clear, and has a greenish tinge to it, Johanne jumps in anyway, declares the water to be absolutely wonderful and tries to get the rest of us to go in. None of us do but we stand and watch her frolicking in the water to see if anything comes to nibble her. She comes out about half an hour later intact. No entertainment there then!
I cook some wahoo that Joe caught in the Catalan style that I use for most white fish, but wahoo is a difficult fish to cook and refuses to stay moist even though it had marinated all afternoon in olive oil. The flavour is good though.
Midway through our evening’s entertainment (TV this time instead of Johanne) I start to feel unwell and disappear downstairs for an appointment with Montezuma who is bent on a lot of revenge for something. I call for a bucket as well, then nearly pass out while sitting there. I hardly have the strength of lift the bucket off my lap, let alone climb up into my bed. While the other three continue to watch TV, I lie in bed feeling very, very sorry for myself, my stomach cramping up every couple of minutes and realise it’s going to be a long night.
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