This 31 hour ferry connects south UK to north Spain

“What are we doing?” my partner Rich asked despairingly, head in his hands.

The sun was setting over Portsmouth Harbour – which had already taken us four hours to travel to. We were off to the North of Spain. But, rather than just hop on a quick EasyJet flight, we’d decided to take the slow route, a 31 hour ferry crossing via the Bay of Biscay to Santander (yes, home of the bank).

I’d personally travel everywhere by ferry if I could. I love the feeling of cosying up in a cabin, the ocean rocking me to sleep, sunrise and sunsets from the deck and slowly easing into a new environment. My recent ferry adventures have taken me to Algeria, Turku in Finland and around the Mediterranean on what I coined a “DIY cruise”.

Rich had taken a little more convincing. The only recent ferry experience he’d had had been a stormy NorthLink crossing from Aberdeen to Shetland, a 12 hour rollercoaster of trecherous waves, near-freezing temperatures and nauseous stomachs.

“That’s an extreme ferry” I told him. “This one won’t be like that, you’ll see!”.

Sailing from Britain to Spain

Using Brittany Ferries, you can sail from both Portsmouth and Plymouth to Santander. Portsmouth also runs ferries to the Basque city of Bilbao.

The Portsmouth to Santander ferry departs at 11:30pm. Once we’d eaten, there wasn’t much else to do in Portsmouth at night (we didn’t fancy drinking – just in case it was a repeat of the NorthLink!), so we arrived at the ferry terminal at 8:00pm. By 8:03pm, we’d checked in and had been informed we’d be boarding three hours later.

A YouTube meditation, episode of Married at First Sight and 50 pages of my book later, and finally: “ferry to Santander is now boarding”. A bus took us to the Santona, a one-year old ship, Brittany Ferries’ best, which boasts two restaurants, a sports bar, outdoor gym and cinema.

There would be time to explore all of that in the morning – after heaving my too-big suitcase (which contained 12 litres of water, just in case Rich’s worst fears came true and we ended up marooned in the Bay of Biscay) up to our room and bidding adieu to Portsmouth Harbour and the Southern English coastline, we retired to bed, ready for a full “ferry day”. I couldn’t wait.

“So… how did you sleep?” I asked Rich the next morning. He rubbed his eyes. “Wow. Best sleep I’ve had in ages!” he responded enthusiastically.

Had I converted him?

A day in the life of a ferry passenger

Days on ferries are blissful, because you have absolutely nowhere to be.

We grabbed breakfast (Rich enjoyed his vegetarian fry up, my pastry was excellent, but the coffee was awful) and explored the ship, before I tackled the outdoor gym for a workout (harder than it looks while the ship is moving!).

We retreated to the sports bar for tapas and a drink and a few hours work, and headed outside to watch the sunset, interspersed with reading, chatting and video-making.

We had just one small concern. I have a banana for breakfast every day, and had brought the required number on board with me. The Santona has a small seafaring exhibition with information about Brittany Ferries ports and customs at sea. One of which detailed an incredibly unlucky item to take on board a ship. Legend has it, a banana will cause a ship to sink.

But shortly after, we noticed bananas for sale in the ship’s shop. “It’s not just me then” I told Rich. “The Santona wouldn’t sink due to a banana!”.

As it’s a Brittany Ferries route, the Portsmouth to Santander ferry is French owned and run – and we could see the French coastline for much of the day. It was reflective of travelling to Spain by land – first, swapping hellos and thankyous for bonjours and mercis, before trading them for holas and graciases at the Spanish borders. It also explains the excellent pastries.

Dinner was a cobbled together affair, due to our vegetarianism/ pescatarianism not being entirely conducive to successful dining in traditional French establishments. Still, the pesto pinsa, a pizza-like dish with a fluffy base (that both France and Italy seem to claim), was delicious – despite it being laden with more cheese than I normally eat in a week.

Arriving in Santander

Gentle classical-style music filled the cabin the next morning – an alarm from Brittany Ferries that wouldn’t wake up the deepest of sleepers. Nonetheless, it was a soothing way to start the day – and when I headed out onto the deck, I saw that we’d arrived into the Bay of Santander, just as the sun was rising.

A historic lighthouse welcomed us, as Cantabrian bulidings lined the golden beaches. In the background, snow-capped mountains pierced the rosy sky.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we’ve arrived in Santander” the captain announced on the tannoy.

Half an hour later, we were outside Santander’s maritime station. Our journey wasn’t over – we were about to take Spain’s slowest train – one that has no online timetables and was to prove very difficult to buy tickets for – to Bilbao.

But we were on Spanish territory – we’d followed in the footsteps of sailors throughout the centuries, and had reached Southern Europe by sea.

“So… would you do it again?” I asked Rich.

“For another sleep like Thursdays, definitely!” he responded.

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