We weighed anchor after stowing our supplies and set off for the natural harbour on Ilha da Cotia, which was recommended to us by the Forgus 37 Lindisfarne crew whom we got to know during our stay in the Canary Islands. They had come across our website and got our e-mail address from the ocean sailing club we belonged to. Unfortunately, we do not dare post our e-mail address on our website since the mailbox would soon fill up, and receiving mail via satellite is expensive. At the time it cost forty or fifty dollars per megabyte. We entered into a rewarding correspondence with Lindisfarne, which had already reached Brazil. They had left Sweden a year ahead of us. We expected to catch up with them at Mar del Plata in November. This proves the importance of having a website. It keeps you in contact with other boats.
Ilha da Cotia
On leaving Angra dos Reis I made a routine check of the electric panel. That was how I discovered that the alternator on the main engine did not charge. We turned back to our anchorage to find someone who could sort out the problem. We followed the same procedure as we always do at home. All problems need to be sorted out immediately. We found a Volvo dealer and ended up with several persons who clearly did not know a word of English. After spending a while being connected to a number of people we put down the phone and held a council of war. We thought it unwise to accept a repairman that did not speak English on board. What were the alternatives? It was not necessary for the main engine to charge since we could depend on our 16 kW Westerbeke unit, which had been remarkably reliable for as long as we had owned the boat. The best solution was perhaps to buy a new alternator for the Volvo and have it shipped to one of our future destinations where the quality of service was better. Said and done. We ordered a new alternator from home and asked to have it delivered to Mar del Plata in Argentina, where we would be in about a month's time. This was an entirely new situation for us. We were about to spend a month at sea, fully aware of having a malfunctioning alternator. Perfectionists Arne and Heléne had begun a new life, no longer expecting everything on board to be in perfect working order at all times. It was a difficult, but essential, step in our mental development.
We were fascinated by how few boats we saw while we were sailing around the islands. We arrived at Ilha da Cotia, a natural harbour near the town of Parati, in the evening. This beautiful harbour became our favourite harbour in the Angra dos Reis archipelago. We were alone there on weekdays; on weekends we were joined by other boats. After a few days we made a day-trip over to Parati, but we found no reason to stay so we went back later the same day.
The scenery and the natural harbours here are excellent. The villages and towns are a different matter; not only are they poor, there is litter everywhere and the houses are often in a terrible state. It is sometimes hard to understand why. Even poor countries can be clean and neat. Poor villages in Greece are often neat and tidy despite the poverty. This is not the case in South America. The houses are decaying and people clearly do not care. An old friend once said that “people in countries where they don't look after their houses have no faith in the future”. Everyone knows that it is worth looking after a house if you think about it as a long-term term investment. In countries where people have no faith in the future people enter the marketplace for short-term gain; they have no qualms about cheating others since they do not care about the long-term. We had already come to realise how well this applied to Brazil.
Our sojourn on Ilha da Cotia was possibly the first time in five months at sea that we were able to get a proper rest. In the Canaries we had worked hard, and we had been a little apprehensive about crossing the Atlantic. In Salvador there was a lot to repair and things to fix. The Abrolhos were lovely, but the water where we anchored had been rather choppy. We were now anchored in a perfect natural harbour. It was dead calm, the water surface as smooth as a ballroom floor. I must admit that being so entirely alone was a little frightening. Brazil was the only country on our route where pirates operate from time to time. You sometimes hear of attacks on boats in out of the way places. In the beginning we set up a radar alarm that extended a hundred metres from the boat so we could hear if anyone was approaching. There are gangs armed with machine guns in Rio and São Paolo that have no qualms about robbing people in the worst possible way. Some people say: the better the boat, the greater the risk.
Pirates and Sea Captains
We agreed that as soon as we heard anyone boarding our boat we would press the alarm button on the Inmarsat C. It was pre-programmed to send a “pirates on board” message. It was the only risk we imagined running here. We had stashes of dollars that we would give the burglars, should they make it on board. We were not armed. We did not believe it would increase our chances of surviving a pirate attack. There is no point being armed unless you are prepared to shoot first, and Swedish people are unlikely to be prepared to do so since we are generally unaccustomed to handling guns. Carrying arms also involves a lot more bureaucracy.
Guns can possibly be useful if you know how to handle them. American yachts often carry guns, and according to reports they are not as likely to be attacked as boats that do not. Not even criminals like to get killed. Still, this was not an option for us. Our strategy involved staying away from the worst afflicted places, keeping an eye open and trusting our excellent communications equipment so we could alert the authorities.
A large container ship was recently attacked off São Paolo. Several men dressed in black and armed with machine guns arrived in a speedboat, boarded the ship and robbed everyone on board. If these people have the confidence to rob a large ship and crew, there should be no problem robbing a small leisure boat, so the risk was more than academic.
Because of this we did not stay long in Brazil, we even spent less time there than we had planned. After Ilha da Cotia we went straight to Ilhabela, which became our last stop in Brazil.
En route to Ilhabela, a few miles off the city of Ubatuba, we received an e-mail from a retired Norwegian sea captain who lived there. He owned an Automatic Identification System (AIS) unit, which he kept at home. For a number of years now, all freighters have been required to have a fully operational onboard AIS system. Yaghan had one too, which means that we send AIS data. That was how the Norwegian sea captain had been able to follow our movements over the past week. He saw us inside Parati Bay, which is rather shallow, and he was extremely surprised at discovering an AIS-equipped boat in there. It is still uncommon for leisure boats to emit AIS signals, so he thought it was a freighter that had gone off course and ended up in Parati. He suspected an accident, but there was no alarm. He found out what kind of boat Yaghan was and visited our web page. We discovered his friendly e-mails and greetings when we got to Ilhabela. He particularly appreciated our criticism of the courier services. He had experienced the same. He invited us to spend a pleasant evening with him at his home, but unfortunately we had to decline since we had already cleared out of Brazil.
Ilhabela
We spent a total of six weeks in Brazil. Ilhabela was a small oasis; you could say it was Brazil's answer to Marstrand on the west coast of Sweden. The yacht club was high security and Ilhabela seems to be coping with the harder criminals. You could move around freely at night. This was also the first time in Brazil that we dared to venture out jogging.
At the Ilhabela yacht club boats anchor in the bay outside the harbour. We moored at one of the buoys, even if it is against our principles. Since few people in Brazil speak English, it was as usual difficult to find out how strong the buoy was. We think we managed to communicate the weight of the Yaghan (forty tonnes), and the yacht club staff all agreed that it was not too much for the buoy. A few days later we were dining at the restaurant when it suddenly turned windy and we watched how Yaghan slowly began to drift. We rushed to the dinghy and motored out to her in the dark. After we had made it on board, two members of staff arrived and tried to tie a rope to another buoy so we would be moored at two buoys until the storm had passed. We managed it in the end. They next day we moved to
a buoy weighed down with a heavier clump.
This incident clearly proved the truth of our old rule never to moor at a buoy. Most marina staff have no idea how much their buoys can withstand, and they are seldom aware of their state of repair. That is why Yaghan's own anchor is always the best option. We have also given up trusting information about water depth provided by fuel stations – we have had many unpleasant surprises. Before we fill up our tanks in a place we do not trust, we take our own measurements from the dinghy. These kinds of precautions are essential during a circumnavigation if you want to make it all the way around the world. You must always take a sceptical attitude to information provided by the locals. It is often based on hearsay and groundless statements. This is especially true of information about the weather.
We now began to seriously study the weather forecasts before embarking on the nine hundred mile crossing to Punta del Este in Uruguay. Originally, we had planned to visit a few more places in Brazil before sailing to Punta del Este, but we were somewhat fed up with the bureaucracy and lack of security. It is never wrong to make up for time if you happen to get to a country you are not very impressed by. Keeping ahead of schedule means that you can stay a little longer when you get to a place you really like.
Continuing South
(Heléne)
Punta del Este – We Want to Stay Here!
On Sunday October 29, we left Ilhabela in the dark. We slipped the lines at half past four in the morning and left this beautiful and pleasant island behind. Our best memories from Brazil so far were associated with the week we spent on Ilhabela.
When we set off for Punta del Este in Uruguay we were experiencing a number of technical problems on board. Our inverter was not functioning and nor did the 24 volt generator on the Volvo Penta. We had to rely on the Westerbeke generator both for charging the batteries and for our 220 volt electricity supply. This meant, among other things, that as soon as we wanted to cook or make coffee we had to switch on the Westerbeke, and it had to hold out until the middle of November when we expected spare parts from Sweden to arrive. It was not an ideal situation, but our only option was to order spare parts and have them shipped by courier to Mar del Plata in Argentina. We would not arrive until mid-November for a two week stay.
The nine hundred mile leg would probably take us a little more than four days. There was a light breeze during the first few days, but then we encountered a cold front with 30–35 knot winds. This was definitely the end of the warmly weather that we had got used to for some time now. Warm overalls, boots and thermal underwear had to be dug out. We had not needed to dress warm since crossing the Bay of Biscay, which was so long ago that we had forgotten what it was like.
We had spaghetti Bolognese for our first dinner on board, like we always do. We enjoyed the sunset and being at sea again, and we discovered that we had been joined by a school of dolphins that were diving and swimming around the boat
During my night watches I was able to enjoy a beautiful full moon and clear skies. The euphoria that I had felt so many times while crossing the Atlantic to Brazil was beginning to return. Sailing through the night with the Milky Way glittering overhead is a great privilege in life. From the speakers Ulf Lundell sang to his daughter Sanna, “Dream of me tonight” and I thought of my Hanne. Four hours pass quickly when your mind travels. I curled up in front of the radar with a happy, tingling sensation inside, listening and looking out into the dark.
During these four days it became more and more obvious that we were travelling south. The nights were getting cooler. For our final dinner on board we had another favourite meal: macaroni stew with fried chorizo sausages and the last of our pickled beetroot from home – a gourmet dinner at sea, somewhere between Brazil and Uruguay.
Approaching the coast off Punta del Este was fantastic, euphoric. It was a glorious coastline, an absurd mixture of the Manhattan skyline and the flat coast of Scania in southern Sweden: skyscrapers, miles and miles of sandy beaches and dunes with pine trees sticking up in the background. The sun was bright, the air was high and clear and warm behind the sheltering sprayhood. We needed nothing else on this beautiful, crisp spring day – we immediately took Punta del Este to our hearts. The town is situated on a headland that protrudes into the Atlantic and is lined with two enormously long beaches: La Barra, which reaches all the way up to Brazil on the Atlantic seaboard, and La Mansa, which forms a sheltered, forested bay that extends all the way up to Montevideo. La Barra, where the Atlantic waves surge onto the beach, is a surfers’ paradise.
We spent a week there, and we would have liked to spend longer if there had been more time. The city had everything: long, beautiful walks along the waterfront; infinitely long white beaches; wild sea lions in the harbour, and restaurants, first rate restaurants. We would love to return to Punta del Este sometime in the future. We had dinner at Lo de Tere, a wonderful restaurant on the Rambla del Puerto, only five minutes from our boat. We went there every single evening – except Thursday when it was closed. We had not had better meals (cheap too) since La Coruña. We had tried Uruguay lamb in Visby, but the meat was possibly even better here.
The Rambla Claudio Williman was lined with restaurants. One day, as we were sitting in one eating churro, an upmarket hamburger made with fillet of beef, the people at the neighbouring table asked us where we were from. In the end we were invited to their home for a pre-prandial drink. It was a Brazilian family from Porto Alegre who, like many other wealthy South Americans, owned a holiday apartment here in Punta. Later, clutching the address, we stepped out of our taxi to discover that our hosts lived in one of the skyscrapers that were lining La Barra beach, and which we had noticed when we arrived a few days before. There was a terrace and large picture windows overlooking the sea. You could clearly hear the Atlantic lapping against the shore. It turned out not to be just a drinks party. The table was laden with wine, ham, sausages, cheese and fruit. We had a very enjoyable evening and stayed late exchanging e-mail addresses and promises to keep in touch. We gave them Hanne's address too, since it turned out that their daughter Ana would be moving to London in the autumn to study law. Hanne had just completed her studies, and she would probably be happy to offer some advice.
Punta is a very fashionable place where affluent Brazilians and Argentineans go for a relaxing holiday. It is lavish and wild – and it is safe. Many prefer it to their own home countries. But it is of course an oasis, a small luxury haven in Uruguay. The economy and standard in the rest of the country is another matter entirely. We felt safe here, and we were able to walk about the city even after dark.
Almost every day we went jogging along the coastal path, which went on as far as the eye could see – all the 110 kilometres up to Montevideo. The climate was like a lovely day in May in Sweden. The herbaceous borders around town made you feel at home. There were pansies, French marigolds, various types of begonias and clematis, and the honeysuckle was in bloom. I was overcome with nostalgia. Smelling the honeysuckle makes you homesick. If only there were lilacs too …
Customs clearance was unproblematic. We were beginning to think that Uruguay was a big exception when it came to South American bureaucracy. The day before we were to continue across the shallow Rio de la Plata – the Silver River – to Mar del Plata in Argentina, I had booked a meeting with representatives from customs and immigration. We were meeting at the customs office at three in the afternoon. I was still waiting at six o’clock. My illusions were long lost. Trying to make an appointment with officials did not work here either. Was it pure negligence or just an inability to get there on time? I do not know, but it appears to be completely impossible. The girl at the marina helped out, and many phone calls later, at about eight o’clock in the evening, a young man turned up. He represented both authorities. At least he had had the decency to apologise politely and offer a smile. I was so overjoyed that he had turned up at all that I forgave everything – and I was grateful!
Our next ordeal was to inform the Armada – the
harbour authority – that we were planning to sail early the following morning and that we required permission to leave the harbour and Uruguayan territorial waters. The harbourmaster told us that the harbour was closed due to foul weather. The Armada deemed the wind to be too strong. No leisure boats were permitted to leave. We would have to wait until the next day and try again. They would be making a new decision after making a new assessment of the weather. I argued that our onboard weather program did not indicate either foul weather or strong winds. Wave and wind strength were well within the criteria we had set for our voyage. And we had sailed all the way from Sweden. But permission was not granted. I knew that this information would not be well received by Yaghan's choleric captain, and I was right. “Somewhat annoyed”, Arne set off with me in tow to visit the harbour master where he demanded, using the same arguments that I had done before, to be given permission to sail. After a while, when our Spanish and the harbour master's patience were beginning to flag, the official gave up. He issued the permit, stamped it irritably and threw it across the counter. Then he left the room. Fearing that he would change his mind we quickly sneaked out and down to the boat. We were happy and relieved, almost euphoric, after yet again having managed to outwit the South American customs.
Mar del Plata – the Buenos Aires Customs
There was too little wind when we crossed the shallow Rio de la Plata Bay, and Yaghan was rolling badly.
We were sad to leave Punta del Este so soon, but we were on our way to Mar del Plata, which was both exciting and fun. This was my first visit to Argentina. We were getting further and further south, and we were beginning to realise that we were both excited and frightened by crossing the South Atlantic.
Back at the helm - sailing the Yaghan to Antarctica, Patagonia and the South Pacific Page 13