We’re back at sea again; next stop Devil’s Island (of Papillon fame). Fernando de Noronha is still visible 14 miles behind us and we have about 1,300 miles to go to reach the Iles de Salut. We bunkered 160 litres of diesel, 200 litres of fresh drinking water, almost fixed the bilge pump but despite my ministrations failed to repair the towing generator. On this run that means using the engine to charge the batteries if we want to use the water maker.

 

Fernando de Noronha was hard to leave. We loved the beaches and spent three days buggying around from beach to beach and from beach bar to beach bar. It’s easy to think of it as a paradise island but whenever we were asked which pousada we were staying in and we had to say that we were on a boat and not staying in a pousada a wistful look came into the eye of the questioner. Paradise is all very well but a little adventure on the high seas would be fun too it seems.

 

For the first part of our stay a huge swell was coming in which made the trip into the harbour challenging – surfing down the wave and then a quick hard-a-port to get past the breakwater and into the calm of the small harbour. Michaela has got the idea into her head that everything we do reminds her of ‘Challenge Anneka’. But she has other odd ideas as well – she has been calling the moon ‘full’ for the past week. In all probability it’ll be full today. Worse – when we’re at sea she is convinced that every bang she hears when she’s lying in her bunk  (in the forward cabin) is the boat hitting a fish! And she started feeding the island’s lizards. They don’t like crisps, Michaela!

 

I have a different view of her – as Seaman Fitzpatrick complete with dreadlocks – you should see her hair! - (and nappy rash tho’ I’m not supposed to mention that  so don’t say anything – from having an almost permanently wet back side). She’s a first class bilge pumper and dinghy pumperupperer and pumperdownerer. Won’t be long now before she get’s promoted to CPO (chief pumper officer) Fitzpatrick.

 

We swam with turtles in one bay and Michael had a close encounter with a shark. So did Michaela but she didn’t know it. The shark was following her and Michael was following the shark too intent to get good pictures of it with his underwater camera than concerned with its possible predatory intentions. I’m pleased to report that they survived the encounter. Probably because Michaela didn’t try to give it a cheese sandwich.

 

On another beach, on another day we decided to swim into the surf. Mum sat down in the sea and got a swimming costume full of sand for her troubles. Being of a practical nature she bared her boobs and shook the sand out – so she thought - except when she went for a shower at the end of the day she discovered that she had effectively been carrying two sand bags around with her in her costume since leaving the beach! Michaela reported that there was a large sand dune in her shower cubicle afterwards. This was the same beach where Michaela decided to strengthen her leg muscles by ‘resisting the waves’ (she’s been reading ‘Papillon’!) and then got dragged out to sea by the undertow. Michael to the rescue!

 

On Saturday Mum got a touch of sun stroke but on Sunday she clambered up a rocky cliff in her bare feet as easily as a mountain goat. M & M were more sensible and took their time whilst I was even more sensible and snoozed on the beach whilst all this hyper activity was underway. The increase in Mum’s energy levels must have been because we had had a lovely dinner at a bar- restaurant over looking our bay the previous evening. We watched the sun set over the sea and dined in style. Her chicken with polenta and caiparinha sauce was delicious and must have been of a particularly reviving nature. Either that or the caiparinhas which accompanied it.

 

Michael and I had a treat when we woke up one morning to find a new boat in the bay with a single (and pretty) girl on board and displaying a dodger with the slogan ‘French tastes best’ writ large!  Mum and Michaela were less impressed and starting making girly noises of disapproval (not of the girl but of our male interest in her). It turned out that she was Brazilian and had sailed the Atlantic in an open boat and then got sponsorship from a French company so she could continue sailing. The company wasn’t keen on sponsoring the open boat so bought her a new boat with a cabin and all mod cons and then they send her some money every now and then as she sails round the world. She plans on leaving the island tomorrow heading for Salvador and then south to Ushuaia and round the bottom of the continent and onwards to Tahiti.

 

As you might have gathered we had a fantastic few days on the island. From the very welcoming coffee offered by the local officials and Policia Federal when checking in, to the fact that we could leave our bags anywhere without fear of them disappearing and to the friendly people we encountered everywhere – especially Felipe who looked after our first beach bar and who served a first class plate of fried sardines and the man who let me use his workshop to mend the bilge pump, to the tiny ‘toy town airport’ (Michaela was having withdrawal symptoms), to the tough buggy that got us around the dirt (and bumpy) roads (the locals are very proud of their single highway stretching all of four and half miles but the rest of the roads are no more than very rough dirt tracks) and the stunning and mostly deserted beaches.

 

It’s hard to reconcile the island we found with the same one some years back when it served as a penal colony for miscreant Portugueses.  The ruins of their prison looked impressively forbidding as did the square in front of the governor’s office where punishment was meted out. Papillon again.

 

If it had a natural spring or two Fernando de Noronha would make a perfect Robinson Crusoe island.

 

P, L, M & M