Taste of the Atlantic and Meet the Portuguese

Having left Gibraltar on a decent weatherwindow we gunned it up the Algarve-coast until we hit gale-force head-on winds whereupon we immediately found shelter in the marina of the small town Barbate, right before Cape Trafalgar. We checked in at the office and paid our bill, promising to bring over our forgotten, yet non-existing insurance-papers in the afternoon.
Thirty hours later we hit the Atlantic again, enjoying a series of high-pressures over most of south-west Europe, and a few days later we could finally anchor in Portugal having sailed most of the way. A relief after having had one (1) day without motoring for a month-and-a-half through the mediterranean. Our mission in Cascais, Portugal was 1: Wait for Martin to come join our jolly cruise. 2: Nothing. Acomplishing objective 2 shortly after arriving we settled down to wait a day for Martin. However the waiting was interrupted by a visit by The Jolly Portuguese Fellas. The Jolly Portuguese Fellas had taken their sailboat a half-miles way out of the marina and where motoring up and down the beach enjoying beverages previously aquired by a volunteer Portuguese Fella swimming ashore to buy a sackful of said goods at the closest bar and swimming back. Jolly Portuguese fellas normally don't carry a dinghy since the boat spends its time tied up in a marina or motoring back and forth right outside the playa.
Now The Jolly Portuguese Fellas were getting hungry and wanted to send for some marinated snails. Since the swimmability of marinated snails and other tapas are rather limited and the volunteer Fella no longer volunteered they wanted to borrow our dinghy. No worries. Thirty minutes later they returned with dinghy, beer, wine and snails, promptly tied up alongside us and commenced stuffing their shoppings down us. After running out of beer and wine we managed to cough up a bottle of our best vodka so the get-together could go on. The Pessblaut-boys sincerely enjoyed this little gathering with the Portuguese General Manager of one of the largest internet-poker companies worldwide, the unofficial "King" of the local marina, the most expensive one in Portugal, and some "special police"-guy with a look that would scare the Hulk green in broad daylight. Hold on; the Hulk IS green?! They've probably already met...
The party took a turn for mainland, and ended up with Yours Trulies being showered with drinks in the local bars (after having had the doorman clear away some people from our desired table), according to a somewhat patchy memory. Probably lots of fun. Somehow Øyvind must have felt the urge to refinance his funds towards the end of the night, since he asked some of the guys if they knew of a place a guy could "fight for cash". He was promptly directed to some obscure garage-building by the seedy part of the waterfront. Somehow either his bravery, bravado or breadwinning desires disappeared at some point and he woke up the next morning with an intact face, yet penniless. Next evening we dodged the Fellas, hoping to be able to receive Martin and remember it. We managed, and were pleased to discover his lack of tan as we have previously been unpleasantly surprised by our guests being more tanned than us. Anyway, he'll probably rectify that in the couple of weeks he'll spend with us. Wellwell, next day, the 21.st of May we took off up the coast, and that's what we're doing as of now: taking off up the coast. We'll stop somewhere before the infamous Bay of Biscay to check the weather and post this rubbish. So, catch ya'll later!