“O paraíso é aqui!” (loosely “Paradise on earth!”) Américo Vespúcio is reputed to have said of the tiny Atlantic island of Fernando de Noronha, and five hundred years later we were inclined to agree. It was just what we needed after a long crossing – a jewel in the South Atlantic Ocean.

Atlantic Crossing.

Following the advice in Jimmy Cornell’s “World Cruising Routes” (Adlard Coles, 1995), we sailed south from the Cape Verde Islands. We had been lucky with the doldrums, keeping the fitful north-east trade winds unusually far south to 3ºN when, after a brief squall and torrential rain, we found ourselves in the south-east trade winds. We had had just a couple of calm periods, during one of which we swam in the Atlantic to cool off. Underwater the deep ocean was a gorgeous crystalline blue, unlike anything seen near land. A yacht that left the Cape Verdes a day after us was becalmed for three days, eventually motoring 500 miles to find wind.

The worst we had was a terrific thunderstorm one night, the flashes coming so close together that the whole sea seemed lit up for minutes at a time with a ghastly light, far brighter than day-time. We cowered below, hoping that if struck we would be protected by the steel hull. Sometimes networks of bolts seemed to criss-cross the entire sky. Most scary of all were the intense fat pillars of lightning that sizzled straight down from under the lowest clouds, the sort of thing that turned Lot’s wife to chip condiment.

The peak of Fernando de Noronha.

The south-east trades were at first more southerly than expected, and our course for Salvador in Brazil became so close on the wind that it was difficult to hold. Looking for an alternative, we found the Brazilian island of Fernando de Noronha, about 250 miles off the easternmost point of Brazil. By going there we had an extra ten degrees off the wind, and the passage was eight days shorter. The wind steadily increased as we went south, causing the sea to splash over the deck so all the windows had to closed. It was hot and bumpy, but reasonably fast.

The Island.

Fernando de Noronha is a tiny speck of an island just four miles long, the peak of a mountain 3 miles high that rises vertically from the bottom of the Atlantic and just breaks the surface. Despite its small size, the wind directions cause it to stand at the cross-roads of long-distance Atlantic passages, on route for sailing boats travelling from Europe to Brazil and Cape Horn as well as from Cape Town to the Caribbean. The Portuguese recognised its strategic value in the 17th century and fortified the island heavily – a role it continued to play up to WWII when it was a US base. Many of the 2,000 residents are descendants from penal inmates imprisoned here in the 18th and 19th centuries.

The anchorage and harbour.

The first sight of the island is a low-lying grey strip with a strange, overhanging peak like a finger sticking up. The only anchorage is right at the north end of the island in the bay of Santo Antonio, where the tall rock looks like an old man’s head overlooking the tiny harbour. The bay is the home of a large number of white bellied spinning dolphins that greet boats with a display of their ‘whirling dervish’ antics. The anchorage is covered in buoys for local boats, but it seems acceptable for visiting yachts to pick up a spare buoy. To our surprise we were the only visiting yacht, and remained so for almost all the time we were there.

We rowed the dinghy into the harbour, where just ashore was the Port Authority. The island is not a port of entry to Brazil, but yachts can stay a while without having first cleared in to Brazil (contrary to advice in our pilot book).

Formalities are relatively simple and relaxed, all being handled by the Port Captain - unlike the rest of Brazil, where the bureaucracy is tiresome. As we arrived without Brazilian money, Manuel, the port clerk, drove us across the island to the small airport where the only VISA cash machine is situated.

It is not possible to do justice to this island here. For a full description and pictures see the Island's Website. Briefly, its isolated position means a unique ecosystem and over half the island is reserved as a “national park” – actually a wildlife conservation zone to which access is restricted. Eco-tourism has been developed over the last ten years as the military presence declined. In addition to wildlife spotting, most

memorably the huge hawksbill turtles which nest here, the islands offer superb swimming, surfing, snorkling and diving from the many beautiful beaches that are not in the restricted area. Tourist development is being sensitively handled, and the number of visitors is strictly limited. All new buildings are traditional in style. Holidaymakers – nearly all Brazilian but with a sprinkling of US Americans – stay in single-story “pousadas” (guest-houses) which blend in with the villages. Night life is minimal – a few local restaurants and low-key bars. There is just one made-up road along the length of the island, the rest are dirt tracks, and everyone drives beach-buggies, even the police.

The anchorage by moonlight.

The snag is the cost. Supplies (which are limited), food, transport, etc often cost double that of mainland Brazil. Just to anchor in the bay is £32 per day and on top of this there is a fee of £8 per person per day for the island Park Authority. In total we paid £144 for three days, though we actually stayed four, as the Port Captain said that since he wasn’t in attendance on Sunday, he would turn a blind eye. This in a country where the daily charge in a full-service marina for us is generally under £5.