rain through the windows, while the smell of fresh coffee fills the air. I received an informational message from my mobile company this morning and started to cry. Why? I think it's the familiarity … maybe I imagine my familiar guys that I connect with this company unconsciously. It's crazy… I know, but I've learned something special on this trip. I've learned to cry. I don't even care if someone can watch. I'm just me. I don't have to explain what I do. This trip has two sides - both I can only feel and experience by myself. It's the positive and good side you will read the most about, because that's my natural being, but today it's the right time for the other side, as I'm not always relieved of it.
To control myself and my thoughts every day and 24/7 in order to succeed on my way is really hard work. No money and no credit card, but still I have to trust and believe that this journey will go on, that someone will arrive with some money, meat or petrol, beverage or fruits ... this is stress. Every day on sea is new, but something remains the same EVERY DAY: my feeling of tightness concerning the unknown water. Where will I arrive? How will I arrive? At whom will I arrive? The important things are to stay calm - even in danger, not to let anything guide me, but to guide myself and make all decisions on my own. The right decisions. It's not as if I'm uncertain thinking about it, but it's pure tightness.
EVERY DAY!

On the one hand, this journey's energy is so powerful, but on the other hand it means so much loss. As much as I will gain from it for the future and my family, as many things are to be missed right now and I can feel all of them stitching like small needles. Dear God ... if you all just knew, how much I miss you. You wouldn't have to say anything… just sit beside me or do whatever you'd like. Thanks for being here for me!

Sunday, 19th August, Cascais to Peniche

The morning is foggy and it's dangerous to start today. Unexpected, it disappears at 9:30 a.m. and I decide for the 40 miles route. After only five miles, the mist returns and it won't disappear for the rest of the day. A blind route that I can hardly describe in its need for effort. My head turns permanently in 360 degree to make sure not to miss a ship's appearance suddenly in front of me. Just sometimes I can see the coast's shimmer and I know I'm too close to the coast, as also offshore rocks can end my journey all of a sudden. Again and again, fishing buoys appear in front of me, lined up with fishing constructions. I think this line will guide my way in a certain distance from the coast safely. Would a fisher come too close to a rock with his nets and fishing tools?

The sight later lowers 50 meters and the day is extremely exhausting. It can't be true, this damned mist! Peniche is suited offshore like a pick and in this situation I can reach it as a harbor more easily. I decide for a change of course to not miss it accidentally. Two fishing boats and a white catamaran pass me in the thick fog this day, when my GPS tells me at the sun setting "Master? We arrived!" It's not very nice, if the exaction of the coordinates tries to underbid the sight. I move cautiously. The sight reaches zero with the upcoming darkness in the mist… Suddenly there's a wave breaking! Three more waves to go and I find myself on the sand ... I can see a bather and shout "Harbor? Porto?" He shows to the left ... I'm getting off the breaking but follow it parallel, when after one minute, all of a sudden, the dark, high harbor wall appears in front of me. What a scary moment!

The result of this appearance: A fishing line that's clinging to the mast, but I can get rid of it. A second one - the heavy plumb flicks against my breast, the fish hook stays in my hand. Get off it! I can't lose the harbor wall. There is the green container, marking the entrance. More than 30 minutes I creep towards the walls through the harbor, passing fishing boats and another one, which is turned of current. All of a sudden, masts and rafts appear in front of me. But my work is not finished yet. A policeman, the only one who is receiving guests here at this time, waits for the perception of my personal data. "Camping? On the raft? Impossible!" he says and stays more than 25 minutes beside me, folding his arms like a child, to decide what he can do. "You picked a bad place for that kind of joke. They don´t like jokes over here." I pat him on the back, though I can hardly stay awake as I'm famished and tired to death.

End of the story: I camp on the raft directly in front of the police boat. While one cop explains the secrets of his "60 knots key", the other cop is really getting me a warm dinner, even at this late hour. Good job, Andreas. Thanks a lot, guys. Good night.

It's Tuesday, 20th of August.

I'm on a tour, that's partly an adventure. It's Jekyll and Hyde and a lot more. While I enter Aveiro, my motor strikes. The streaming, the waves and the wind haven't made it easy for the last six miles. At 9 p.m. I decided to make a three miles turn towards America to catch a better angle at the harbor entry. Sabrina navigated me at noon from home through the difficult river area to the raft. Thanks for that!

My vocal chords suffered a bit. I've never shouted at the water before like that. Sorry!