It is raining, the sound is pattering on the roof, bringing back memories of many a caravan holiday. Yesterday was entirely different, with blazing sunshine. We took advantage of the weather by doing our washing.  John filled up the two big, yellow Gorilla tubs with cold water from the hose and rubbed and splashes happily away, until he had made a decent job of washing the clothes he actually had on, let alone those in the wash. I tried to keep a prudent distance from the maelstrom as I helped rinse and peg out. Finally Lyra was festooned with an assortment of our clothes and bedding and had an immaculate side deck.

Today is Father’s Day and we have spoken to our girls and feel a bit wistful. We are looking forward to seeing them all again and will be bringing them out here soon for a holiday. Earlier we managed a walk round before the rain started. This is a large town, easily the biggest place we have been since La Coruna. The bread shops were open and we bought a long baton and were given a small round cob, people here are so generous.  Most other shops are closed for Sunday, but there was a hum of activity. Lots of families were sat outside cafes, where tables spill over the streets, which are closed to cars. Adults chatted as children played around the tables, chasing to and fro in small gangs. We sat amongst it all and ordered coffee, our view took in the side of a building opposite, on which the imprint of a house, is etched in vivid, and oddly flocked orange. Then we headed off to what we had thought was a footpath, but found was actually Os Castros, the earthworks of a hill fort, possibly Iron Age.  The ramparts were impressively steep and we wandered around the pathways and finally down a formidable wooden stairway to a narrow garden with a winding rill and tall metal windmill. With the weather beginning to look ominous, we walked back along the main road and knew when we were within eating distance by the paper trail of fast food bags we began to encounter. It had been one of the first sights to greet us when we arrived in Vilagarcia, a tall pole crowned by the arched M, announcing the presence Ronald MacDonald in the suitably patriotic colours of the Spanish flag.

The passage from Vilanova to here was so short as to be of little note. We just motored on round, skirting the mussel rafts, at which a couple of boats with small cranes were busy. As we were peering forward looking for the entrance to the marina here, we spotted a fast moving dinghy, being harassed by a rib.

Closer inspection revealed the rib to contain a photographer, intent on catching some exciting images of the couple sailing the very sporting dinghy.

John speculated the sailors might be part of the Spanish national team, so we took our own snaps. Maybe Annie’s Rich, our host in Plymouth, would know of them. They certainly knew what they were doing, snaking around at a vicious speed, tantalizing the chasing rib. After we had tied up, we saw then glide back in to the harbour next to the marina, job done.

The marina here is a large one, though permanent boats take up most of the berths and we were given a temporary overnight mooring, before being able to move to a more secure spot on Saturday. There is a large marina office and restaurant complex in a wooden building on stilts, with verandas and lovely big round windows.

On our arrival we went for tapas in the marina bar, where they serve an amazing gin and tonic. Tonight we are heading over for a Father’s Day dinner in the restaurant and I hope we do not arrive looking like a couple of drowned rats, because as I said it is a large marina and we have a lot of pontoon to traverse.