After another cracking 7 hour sail the wind started to pick up just as we rounded the corner to head into Muros. A really pretty Galician fishing town I had been looking forward to visiting on the recommendation of my dear friend Carolyn Bellamy from Askari Sailing.

We had already called up to ask where we were being moored, as we had booked the berth a couple of days previously. No answer. We tried on the VHF. No answer. We kept trying. And still no answer. Whilst not so quietly seething, ( there is no point in being angry and keeping it to yourself after alI ) I set up the whole boat to make it easier when we got into the marina. If you sail, then you will possibly understand why this is slightly annoying. If you don’t sail, what it means is you have to lug long bits of heavy sodding rope all around the boat, tie it all on and then tie on big inflated sausages called fenders and place these strategically around the boat to hopefully not use as bumpers, but you never know.

And so we arrived. There was a lovely chap waving and shouting to us. Not helpful from 50 yards in what was now 25 knots of wind and with a loud engine on. He started to play charades in an attempt to direct us, something we normally reserve for Christmas but hey, if he was game so were we. At some point during the game of charades in rather unpleasant winds and in a very tight marina my turn became a rather more obscene use of hand gestures which he seemed to understand.

He slowly walked around the small marina to show us where our mooring was. By this time we were now motoring down a gap which was barely wide enough for us to pass through, thanks to the double parked fishing boats. And then finally he showed us where we were meant to be going. Well holy cow. Lee ended up doing what seemed like a 100 point turn to get us in, thanks to the aforementioned double parked fishing boats, a gap of 3 foot either side of the boat, the wind that was great an hour ago but which now seemed to be tornado strength, dodging what seemed to be the entire town’s fishing lines and all the ribs that were racing in.

After mooring up, and thankfully not needing the fenders I had a little chat with the harbour master who then beat a very hasty retreat. In fairness he did come back about an hour later and apologised for the fiasco that had just happened, and accepted that it would have been significantly easier had he charged up the mobile phone we had been trying to call and his opposite number had not gone home with the handheld VHF.

After opening a rather dodgy bottle of wine and vowing to myself yet again that if the price seems to good to be true then there’s a reason for it, we sat down in the cockpit and relaxed. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times you moor in a marina. It’s always a bit stressful and generally warrants a “thank God we are alive and there are no insurance claims” celebratory drink.

Later on, after a shower and a change we went off to explore. This tiny Galician fishing village has remained true to it’s roots and does not seem to have rolled over to the Costas and other chain brands that are infecting everywhere like diseased roots spreading through civilisation. We walked up a hill and then realising it led to nowhere walked back down it again. We walked along an old street about 200 yards, turned left and walked up 20 yards, turned left and walked along it again. After another left turn we had “done” Muros and arrived back to where we started.

I had found a great tapas place for us to go to which was just by the entrance to the marina so we carried on walking around until it was opened and then we went back and were settled under some great big arches and brought the menu. We ordered and within a few minutes the dishes started to arrive. They were incredible but the dish of the day was the BEST frittata I have ever tasted. After polishing off our meal we washed it down with a few beers and happily walked back to the boat, Franco trotting along beside us having had the obligatory albondigas for his supper.

The next morning, still with frittata full tummies we eased out of our mooring which was made significantly easier due to the absence of the world’s biggest fishing fleet in the world’s smallest marina, and went on our way.