At 9.30 am, the ‘Chronos’ casts off in Mindelo. There won’t be enough time to call at all nine inhabited islands. We’ll therefore limit ourselves to the northern group, the Ilhas de Barlavento, the Windward Islands. They form a wide arc to the south-east. The distances involved will mean a few days at sea – but after all, we’re here to sail.
Under engine power, our ketch is heading south-west in the lee of São Vicente’s volcanic coastline, rounding Cape Ponta Machado with the gleaming white Dona Amélia lighthouse set against a sheer cliff face, before we can set sail on a south-easterly course. Two were torn during the stormy passage from Gibraltar; the storm jib is now up in place of the second jib. From the helm, the chief mate’s announcement comes: nerdy sailing chat is very welcome!
The Passat fills the sails
As the ‘Chronos’ leaves the lee of São Vicente and its uninhabited neighbour, Santa Luzia, the trade winds fill the sails. Dark blue sea, a few white caps, a cloudless sky. The fetch of the open Atlantic. Spray washes over the windward bow, but dries quickly on the teak. There are no other sails in sight, but a school of tuna appears on the port side. A frigatebird glides playfully around us with its blade-like wings. At 4 pm, there’s coffee and cake aft.
Our destination, 55 nautical miles away, is Tarrafal, the main town on the island of São Nicolau. The ‘Chronos’ cautiously makes its way towards the approach. It is 6.30 pm and pitch black. We are just 16 degrees north of the equator. The shore lighting is sparse; the ships in the roadstead ahead are barely visible as shadows. AIS signals: few and far between.
Arrival in São Nicolau at night
The captain and chief mate are at the helm: “Can you see that red light from the yacht over there?” On the port side, a ferry is turning – no, an expedition cruise ship. Over there, a fishing boat is setting out; in the glaring light of the searchlights, the crew are already preparing their fishing gear. Finally, the port anchor drops to a depth of 18 metres; the chain rattles through the hawsehole.
The agent is already on the VHF; the dinghy is being lowered, and the chief mate is heading ashore with the paperwork to meet him. “Love is more than just a game for two,” sings Nat King Cole. The bell rings for dinner. The new moon hangs delicately above the invisible horizon.
At anchor off Tarrafal
After the night, the ‘Chronos’ lies in the sunshine in calm waters, with only a light haze in the sky. A dark beach, a few yachts and a massive jetty; behind it, white, pink and light blue houses, steeply rising brown slopes and, beyond them, a volcanic cone – Monte Gordo. This is how Tarrafal and São Nicolau lie before us.
We head to the harbour by dinghy – there are two on board – where four minibuses are waiting to take us on a tour of the island, winding their way up into the mountains, past dry scrub and scrawny goats, maize and sugar cane in the valleys.
The homesickness of emigrants
First, we head to the Miradouro do Caminho Novo viewpoint, which offers a fantastic panoramic view across the surprisingly green volcanic landscape all the way to the sea. In the Parque Natural, we see a dragon tree that is four centuries old. The trees’ red resin was once used to stain violins.
Just before the village of Ribiera Brava, an archway bears the coat of arms of Hamburg. Many of them earned their money far away, explains Rolf. “And when they finally buy a house back home after many years, they often show where they have worked or are still working.”
Many want to return, but not all manage to do so. Homesickness is therefore also a central pillar of morna, the music of the diaspora. The national flag bears ten stars: nine for the inhabited islands of Cape Verde and one for those scattered across the globe.
The valley is fertile. Mangoes, papayas and bananas are grown, primarily for the hotels and tourists on the holiday island of Sal to the east. The plants stand densely packed in the plantations. Large golden wasp spiders have woven their webs into vast networks. Like archways, they span the path between the shrubs and trees.
The History of Cape Verde
Ribeira Brava may welcome us with its colonial charm, but it does so modestly. After all, no one was colonised here. When the Portuguese navigator António Fernandes strayed slightly off course in 1445 whilst searching for a route to India and discovered the archipelago, it was uninhabited. So the settlers did not take anything away from anyone. Which, however, in those days still meant that there were soon a few exploiters and plenty of the exploited.
Over time, some made a living from the slave trade and salt, whilst others lived from hand to mouth. When even that was no longer enough, the only option was often to leave – frequently never to return, aboard an American whaling ship. These conditions eventually led to resistance and a struggle for freedom. The Salazar dictatorship responded with violence. It was not until the Carnation Revolution in Portugal in 1974 that the long-awaited freedom and independence were achieved.
In front of the radio station building stands a smiling statue of José Lopes da Silva, who was born in Ribeira Brava in 1872. As a writer of the revolution during the Salazar era, he penned the novel *Chiquinho*, which explores youth and coming of age on the islands. “Today, all the schoolchildren here read it,” says Rolf. Internationally, it is Cape Verde’s best-known literary work.
There isn’t much going on at the Good View Square – which used to live up to its name, as it was a place to see and be seen and was the village’s main attraction. Smartphones and streaming have left their mark here too. Cats are sitting in the shade. Benfica Lisbon are playing on the telly at the Good Looks Bar.
Carberinho: Erosion as Art
Later, on Tarrafal beach: a somewhat ageing vehicle from the Greater Manchester County Fire Service rumbles past, now filled with locals. A solitary saxophone can be heard from a shady alleyway, and on the black beach in front of the fishing museum, teenagers are swimming in the gentle surf. Topped with a star, an ornate cone made of yellow cans glows in the evening sun. Their tins once contained oil for tinned tuna. It’s late November – a Christmas tree!
Along the coastal road and then through dried-up riverbeds towards the west of the island. Our Hiace gets stuck several times; it isn’t built for this sort of terrain. Nevertheless, the driver skilfully guides us to the rocks of Carberinho. Here, layered volcanic rock has been (and continues to be) shaped by wind and water into bizarre, undulating formations. Erosion as nature’s art.
At four o’clock in the morning, the ‘Chronos’ weighs anchor and leaves São Nicolau; the passengers are still asleep. It is set to be a long day for the crew, as an unusual weather disturbance has temporarily halted the trade winds. The wind is now blowing from the south-east – exactly the wrong direction for our next destination, the desert island of Boa Vista.
Information: São Nicolau
- Size of the island: 388 km²
- Location: 16°37′N, 024°16′W
- Population: 12,700
- Main town: Tarrafal
- Places to lie down: Tarrafal (at anchor), Carriçal (at anchor)
Christian Tiedt
Editor Travel
