Strolling along the beach at Santa Maria, I count the 57th milkmaid/chocolate boy couple of the day. There are far more chocolate child pairings here than single malts. There are hardly any white Fickingers to be found. The black lads are crisp, the white girls are willing and the hormones are running amok.
As a white man here, you’re about as sexy as a piss-yellow olm with dorsal fur, as sought-after as scabies spread for breakfast, as popular as an oven-blasting flatmate on meth – and you’re right at the top of the endangered species list anyway. This is exactly how the dinosaurs must have felt after the comet impact. (more…)
Morning Session
Santa Maria is asleep at six in the morning. The night before at the Reggae Rooftop Bar was once again bloody. Windfinder gave 16 to 18 knots for five to eight o’clock. With three good kite days in a fortnight so far, it’s clear what needs to be done: with four hours of sleep, I stroll through the dark streets, clean and still drunk, and look for the first awake taxi.
In the light of the headlights to Mitu Kitebeach, the salt of the salt pans shines brightly. I’m all alone on the beach. The orange and black striped tiger dog sleepily cuddles a lucky cat. A small flock of sandpipers play catch with the waves. White sand dunes shine golden in the sun rising behind clouds over Africa. Above, the moon watches the waves. On some days, kitesurfing is a religion. (more…)
Santa Maria!
At dawn, above the unfinished poor houses of Santa Maria, a dead dog crawls across the cobbled street in front of me with its tail between its legs. Somewhere Ennio Morricone is playing. A prairie bush blowing in the dust is the only thing missing for the perfect tombstone feeling.
Sal is a ghost town at the beginning of October. The wind statistics for October show 68% gliding wind, but unfortunately it doesn’t reach the 15 knots required for my weight class for a whole week. The luxury hotels on the outskirts of the town are only a quarter full. Locals train on the beach in the first rays of sunshine. I understand the many blonde Euro-females with their pieces of chocolate. Fishermen sit half asleep on the quay. (more…)
Bye bye Boa Vista
The time on Boa Vista was good. Travelling with highs and lows, lots of surprises and few expectations. Good people, good food, good music. Our Italian hosts at Residencial A Paz invited us to dinner several times. On the last evening, we get our revenge with a four-course meal.
At the end of my trip to Boa Vista, I get to know some of the inmates of the ****** RIU Karamboa Camp. They pay only slightly more for all-inclusive luxury than I do for ** with breakfast. But I still wouldn’t swap. I have less luxury and more fun. My money is better distributed. (more…)
Kitesurfing on Boa Vista
The wind comes back on the penultimate day. I don’t need any more offshore wind. At lunchtime I get a trip to the RIU Karamboa Hotel in the south of the bay of Sal Rei. The wind here is only about 30 degrees side-offshore. I set up and have a look around.
Another one of those Smurf houses. All-inclusive terrourists, snot-covered banderl wearers and a caipi with beach volleyball. Sun bangers, topless, fuck everything and especially the country and its culture. Off to the bar. A water please, here’s the money. But drinks are only available everywhere with a banderl, nothing else. (more…)
Hiking on Boa Vista
The following days are nice and quiet. Too calm in one respect. After my board-off there were two days of very big waves. Then four days of calm. I quickly make a small business card for my hotel boss. In return, I get his kiteboard for the rest of the holiday.
I go out briefly with the 19 Assault, but even with that I can only keep my height with difficulty. A day later the wind comes back, but: No joke, there’s no more petrol in the whole of Boa Vista and Sal Rei. It will stay that way until Monday. No lifeboat, no kiting.
We go on another tour in the jeep. First stop: the desert of Viana. The wind has dumped the Sahara sand over thousands of kilometres in the middle of Boa Vista. A fine little desert was created over six by three kilometres. We continue through the stony desert to the north beach.
Kitesurfing on the Cape Verde Islands
I was quite disappointed with my first time kitesurfing in Cape Verde. Cape Verde is located in the middle of the Atlantic – not quite in the middle of the Sahara, but still a good distance away. You’d think the wind would be laminar. But it’s not at all. It is extremely gusty, now in November constantly changing between 12 and 28 knots every second from 10 am to 5 pm. Regardless of the coast.
A diving instructor on Estoril beach has a Zodiac for the recue. This is urgently needed: a maximum of 5 kiters per 10 kilometres, wind 75 degrees offshore. There is a small offshore island in the direction of the wind. Otherwise, the next stop is Brazil. (more…)
Boa Vista Social Club on Tour
I let two girls persuade me to go on a guided tour to the most beautiful beach. I don’t like guided tours because they mean that someone knows where to go, the destination is defined and no surprises are to be expected. All three points are elementary contradictions to real travelling.
Travelling means discovering. Travelling means being surprised, positively and negatively. Travelling means: the journey is the destination. Just as this thought crosses my mind, the guide sitting with us in the back of the open pickup apparently no longer knows which of the many dirt tracks leads to the most beautiful beach. I breathe a sigh of relief. (more…)
The sound of Cape Verde
I’m ready for the island
The Author
Frank Woelky, born in 1973. Kitesurfer since 1998. Since 2006, I have been combining kitesurfing and web design on trips lasting several months off the beaten track.