Fernando de Noronha.

We depart Ascension on first light, distance to go 1100 nm, the last leg of our Atlantic crossing.

"We are approaching land and will be seeing some traffic soon. We'll have to tighten up the watches. No sleeping on watch," says Chris in his most stern voice. This means the bean bag can't go on the floor (makes for excellent sleeping), only in the spray dodger (which is very comfortable to sit in, and the pain in your neck wakes you up as you slide down). A bean bag is a way of life on a boat, absorbing the to-and-fro motion, making it a must on any ocean crossing.

"Yes, Master," I tease, but I know the rule - every 20-30 min a 360-degree look.

Lunchtime, one clear, calm day, Chris pops down below to get a book, and is gone 5 minutes max. Exiting the companionway he stops and, gasp! A fully loaded tanker is passing our wake 50m behind us. Frozen, mouths agape, we watch this super-tanker disappear over the horizon in less than 10 mins. So now having seen our first traffic, we can determine that impact could be 10 minutes after you last looked!

"You'll have to pay penance, Master! As this was your watch."

Nilson and family.

This is the only real danger in the Atlantic, as we recently heard about a couple that were run over and left for dead. They survived hours in the water, to be picked up by another tanker and taken to Thailand.

We don't want to go to Brazil via Thailand, so it was with weary bodies and minds that we approached Fernando de Noronha at 22h00. Normally we would have hove-to, but our new cruising friends from St. Helena were there to guide us into the safe anchorage of Baia dos Porcos, now world-famous as a place where you can swim with the dolphins.

The smell is what awakes us the next morning. Flowers, Fruit, grass...Ahh! The smell of land.

I remember the awe at which I surveyed our surroundings. This island is the top piece of a submarine mountain, volcanic in origin, 4000 metres from the base to the highest point.

All this green, after all that blue. "This is paradise," I declare, diving in for the first swim. The visibility is forever, in this powder-blue water.

"Throw me my mask, and come and join me!" I yell.

"Looks like you are going to need it...Incoming!" Chris replies.

My heart jumps into my throat as I spin around to see the pod approaching. Fins, instinct says, equal danger, and hyperventilation is the result. Chris jumps in before I can jump out. We dive down deep and they come to us, fast, agile, but obviously hungry, as they soon leave to feed. "Nothing like a first-light swim in Paradise!"

These conservation islands belongs to Brazil, 250nm off the mainland. They are by far the best maintained islands on earth. There is a $100 tax to visit, unless you arrive by boat. Then, as the customs guy puts it, "You just crossed an ocean to get here! You deserve to stay for free."

So with the clearing in taken care of, from a hut on the beach, we look up to see the gathering behind Malaika.

We still have fish biltong decorating the spreaders, which attracts the local fisherman. "Hey, Fisherman," they call to Chris, "Where you catch that Tuna?"

	Fernando de Noronha.

"In the deep Atlantic," Chris says, "but its not mine, its my wife's fish!"

"Wow," they say, looking at me, "You've got a strong mama!"

And that is the introduction to Nilson and family. We trade fishing tackle for bags of fruit with him and all his island friends during our month-long stay in Paradise.

Fernandho is the Brazilian Pipeline. The surf pounds the harbour and wraps around the point, in front of the Dog Bar, 12-15ft. It is seasonal Dec-Feb, so Chris does not get to sample it. Instead we go swimming in the rock pools, and have our skins exfoliated by the little fish living in them.

People visit from all over the world to dive off these islands, with there pristine waters, friendly people, and active nightlife.

This is a vacation place for the wealthy, if you fly! But living is cheap for the rich of spirit.