Video evidence of our travels

Hi!

As you might expect, while on the move this summer we've had to be quite careful with internet usage, meaning that photo uploading has been limited and video uploading a total no go.

But now we're back in civilisation (i.e. somewhere that offers unlimited wifi) I can upload to my heart's content and thought that some people might feel mild interest in seeing some of the videos we've taken during our wanderings around the Balearics.

First of all, Cala Benirras (seen here) on a Sunday at sunset; people flock to the beach to listen to the drums, watch the sunset and generally have a good time. It started off charming, but after five hours of relentless drumming it can make you a little homicidal.

Next up, a view of Sóller's harbour (described thoroughly here) taken from the tram on the way to Sóller town.

Then a video of us gliding gently into Cala Bassa's caves (before I'd started to freak myself out) and frightening the birds.

And, finally, several videos from the last few days of our travels -
The alarming swarms of jellyfish when first we arrived at Cala Saona:

The much more pleasing school of fish among the anchored boats:

A cool shot of what happens when you breathe out when swimming underwater:

And the dolphins that joined us as we made our way back to the Spanish mainland (a better quality version than that on the previous blog post):

Going home

Our route, from San Antonio to Cartagena

Having been battered by a week of thunderstorms in San Antonio bay, we started to wonder about going home - and by 'home' we meant Cartagena, naturally. It wasn't just the unpredictable weather that made us long for the stability and comfort of our familiar marina (although for me at least that was a big part of it); after two months of cruising in high summer the crowds and the heat had become a little wearing.

Still, we knew September should mean an improvement in both respects, and we had been intending to spend another month enjoying Ibiza's sun, sea and sand with far fewer rivals for the best anchorages. Cartagena was calling, though, and Peter was oddly keen to start his proposed boat improvements. And then one of the fridges stopped working, which rather decided the matter. As it turned out, San Antonio was treated to two tornadoes only a few days after we left, so in retrospect we're thoroughly glad we left when we did.

After enduring a miserable 36 hours of westerly wind and swell, which rolled straight into the bay and had us abandoning the boat for the luxury of a marina lounge, we headed out to what should have been a lovely anchorage on the west of the island...and turned around and headed straight back. The weather forecast had assured us that the westerly swell had all died away by now, but evidently it was getting a bit ahead of itself. We also almost killed two jet skiers from the second largest superyacht in the world who thought it would be great fun to zoom into our path and start doing doughnuts, but sadly they live to annoy another boater.

Part of the enormously crowded anchorage at Saona

We were fairly sure that the swell really would be gone the next day, and indeed it was, so we made our way down to Formentera and Cala Saona, our favourite of all the places we've visited this season. As we approached it became clear that a vast number of other boats had had the same idea - at least a hundred, probably more - but the turquoise waters were as perfect as ever, and Saona has the advantage of being shallow and sandy all the way up the coast and a good way out to sea, meaning that there's plenty of space to anchor as long as you don't mind being a long way from the beach.

The water itself seemed oddly empty, though, and as we picked our spot and dropped the anchor we realized why. There were small, purple-brown jellyfish everywhere, swarms of them, so many that the water looked like it had grown polka dots. All around people were peering forlornly over the guardrails in search of gaps large enough to allow for a dip, but ultimately deciding it wasn't worth the risk. I found myself doing the same that afternoon, timing the intervals between them as they floated down between our hulls, but, as everyone else had done, decided against trying to evade them. I'd been stung by one such jellyfish earlier in the year and I had no intention of repeating the experience.

Each of those blobs is a jellyfish. 

Fortunately, the next day there were far fewer of them, so we took it in turns to cool off while the other of us acted as jellyfish lookout from their vantage point on board. Eventually there were so few that we could essentially swim as normal, so we strapped on our snorkeling gear and went for a look at the rocks and fish by the shore. 

Having had so little luck with wind all summer, we had resigned ourselves to motoring all the way to Cartagena, placing little faith in the forecast that promised perfect sailing conditions for the 60 mile passage. For once, we were wrong; the wind speed and direction were perfect for our enormous cruising chute, which sped us along at close to 8 knots for almost the entire passage. Even better, a pod of perhaps a dozen dolphins came along to play beneath our bows. As Peter said, the only way the day could have been improved would have been if a whale made an appearance (at a safe distance).

We reached Moraira and found ourselves a space among the crowds of anchored day tripper boats, flushed with our success. 

We didn't allow ourselves much of a break, though; the next day we were off again, south to anchor near Alicante, a much less pleasant spot. We were surprised to have another good day of sailing and a much better protected anchorage than we had expected, although if anything it was even uglier than anticipated. Alicante from the sea is a bleak prospect - all concrete high rises behind crowded beaches, the occasional lonely palm tree the only sign of greenery. Where we stopped, however, was a little way out and somehow even worse - the buildings weren't as tall but they looked poorly cared for and there was graffiti everywhere. We braved the cloudy water for a much-needed swim but kept it as short as possible.

The delightful Alicante vista

When morning came, we didn't linger, although we were to have a much shorter journey - only 25 miles to Torrevieja, where we could anchor in a closed harbour, making for perfect shelter. We had stopped there on the way up the coast earlier this year, so knew it was not an attractive location - arguably even worse than Alicante. For some reason it's a tourist destination, but I can't imagine many less appealing prospects than swimming in a busy harbour. We were treated to a thunderstom that evening, which did nothing to improve the surroundings.

From there, we moved on to the Mar Menor, an inland sea bordered by a thin strip of sand - or more accurately a spot just outside the Mar Menor. Construction had been started on a new marina outside the Mar Menor but at some point the plans had fallen through, leaving a set of wave breaks and nothing else. The bright side is that this forms a perfectly sheltered anchorage for anyone willing to brave the rather depressing sight of corrugated metal all around them. We had originally thought of spending a few days in the Mar Menor itself, but more storms were promised so we changed our minds and spent only one night there, again rising early the next morning for the final leg of our journey down to Cartagena.

Cartagena's harbour from the air

We couldn't sail for these last few miles, which was a bit of a shame, but nonetheless we were very excited to be back again. As we rounded corners familiar landmarks revealed themselves: Look! we cried. It's the industrial shipping harbour! And the abandoned forts on the hills! It has to be said that Cartagena isn't quite as impressive from the sea as one might wish.

After some confusion and awkwardness with berthing - our reserved spot was occupied, and the marinero directed us to about the least convenient berth imaginable - we could at last relax. 

We were home.

A Dramatic Adventure in the Death Caves of Cala Bassa

Having spent a few days in San Antonio bay, again, we felt in need of somewhere a little more peaceful and headed a couple of miles along the coast to Cala Bassa, a wide cala very popular with other yachts and tourist boats.

Jade at anchor in the evening light

We found ourselves a spot away from the crowded beach and nearer to the rocks and, after panicking a little about just how close those rocks were, settled down to enjoy the scenery and be rocked about mercilessly by the stream of power boats zooming past the cala.

We debated leaving; the movement was decidedly unpleasant and we could be much more comfortably anchored back in the bay we’d just left. However, we knew the traffic would die down in the evening and concluded that it was probably worth staying put for at least one night. Besides, this gave us the opportunity to explore the caves that surround the cala once the tripper boats were safely out of the way.

As the sun was setting, we took the dinghy and glided over the now glassy water towards the shore, particularly appreciative of our silent electric outboard motor. The cave formations are bizarre; the first we explored opened up to daylight again after we passed under the wall of rock and hundreds of birds emerged from holes in the cave wall, startled by our voices. 

We went deeper into the cave, and as the world darkened my sense abandoned me. We passed a dead snake or eel in the water and the roof lowered and I abruptly decided I didn’t want to go any further.

Looking out from the flesh eating spider cave entrance

‘Can we go now?’

Peter turned to me in surprise. ‘Why?’

‘I don’t like it. It’s too dark. I don’t like it.’

He gave me an incredulous look. ‘OK. This is the flesh eating spider cave, after all.’

Naturally, he found my sudden attack of wussiness hilarious. We moved on to the next cave along the shore, which was of course shallower and narrower. We couldn’t get as far in anyway, but it was still displeasingly dark in there. 

As we started to reverse out, I gave us a gentle push off the rock - our dinghy isn’t the most accurate in reverse - and noticed that the entire surface appeared to be moving. Ants were swarming all over it, and as I watched something large that I had assumed was a shell or barnacle moved.

The entrance to the flesh eating crab cave

I drew my hand back very quickly. ‘There are things on the wall!’

‘Well yes - this is the flesh eating crab cave.’

A small wave slapped against the rock and I jumped. This was all thoroughly embarrassing. Peter ran a hand along my shoulder in his best impression of a flesh eating crab, and I jumped again.

Eventually, though, he took pity on me rather than continuing to mock me and we started to make our way back to the boat as the last of the sun caught the clouds and turned them pink and gold. Meanwhile, I celebrated our escape from the death caves.

A tram ride to Sóller

The anchorage in Sóller

The north-west coast of Mallorca is dramatic, but rather an unforgiving one. Steep cliffs drop straight into the sea, occasional valleys covered in pine forests running between them; in fierce weather there's almost nowhere for a yacht to hide. Port de Sóller, about halfway along the north-western coast, is the only port of refuge for thirty miles in either direction, and is consequently very popular. The fact that it's also an extremely pretty, and quite classy, tourist destination only adds to its appeal.

The north-west coastline

Having hung out in Santa Ponsa long enough, we set out early on Tuesday morning for this much-vaunted horseshoe anchorage - although not exactly concerned about any bad weather. There was no wind whatsoever, which has the upside of completely flat, glassy seas, and the downside of needing to motor and the lack of any breeze to provide relief from the heat. It was a surprisingly pleasant trip, though, in fairness; admittedly, I slept about a third of the way, but the landscape we passed was stunning and with Mediterranean winds we're very used to the sound of the motor.

We turned into the cala early afternoon, hoping we'd manage to find somewhere to anchor, given the reports of getting crowded in high summer. It was, indeed, very busy, and we were forced to anchor further out than we'd really prefer - but as the afternoon wore on perhaps fifteen more boats turned up and managed to slot themselves in, so perhaps we'd given up too soon. Bizarrely, that night someone started letting off flares, causing us to rush outside to establish if someone was in trouble. They seemed to be coming from the marina, though, and we couldn't imagine any situation in which a boat tied up to a dock could need to set off flares to get help; they must just have seen them as conveniently available fireworks, which is of course spectacularly illegal. We watched the last of them float downwards almost directly above us - I was quite ready to jump out of the way to prevent it landing on my head and setting my hair alight. It dropped into the water a few feet from our boat, but next morning we found ash all over our deck.

The view from the tram

Irresponsible flare-setting aside, it's a lovely place. Most of the restaurants are full of greenery and candles, and while wandering around we noticed a trio of musicians (who I want to call troubadours, but don't quite fit the technical definition) in costume moving between restaurants playing to the diners, and without a collection tin or hat in sight.

Me, and a giant open gap on a moving vehicle

This was only the port, though; the town of Sóller lies further inland, completely hidden from sight behind the forested hills. An old-fashioned, and beautifully maintained, tram runs between the town and the port and for the extortionate-seeming sum of €5.50 per person we got a ride into town. It was absolutely worth it. The tram clatters along fairly slowly, but much of it is open and it takes a scenic route through magnificent countryside. It was early in the day so the tram wasn't too busy, but we chose to stand at the back of the carriage - where you could, incidentally, simply hop off while moving, as there are no safety barriers whatsoever - to get the best of the views and breeze.

It's not far to Sóller, but the slow-moving tram takes around half an hour, winding its way through the hills. Suddenly, however, we emerged from the countryside straight into the town, somehow having skipped the outskirts entirely. About twenty seconds after we had hopped out of the carriage we were in love. The town is utterly delightful, and knows it. It's clearly cultivated a charming, classy image, mixing the quaint with the fashionable. For a small town, it has a surprising number of art galleries.

The shop's garden area

We stopped in one of the restuarants surrounding the town square for breakfast, relishing our shady spot under the trees, before heading down the main shopping street. We passed a boutique set up in a courtyard, with lit chandeliers dangling from the high, arched ceiling and clothes hanging from a tree at the back. Further on, on a whim, I turned into a shop that seemed to sell shells, and realised that the stairs led back to a garden that was still part of the shop. It was essntially an upmarket souvenir shop, with some home furnishing and clothing thrown in, not the kind of place we'd usually spend money in, but I was so taken with the effort they'd gone to - they'd used a tree as a hat stand! - that I felt they rather deserved my custom. We went back later in the day and I bought myself a hand-painted fan, which I'll at least be able to get some use out of in the summer weather.

The town square

This was typical of the town - everywhere you stumble across gardens, trees, even orchards. While trying to locate the supermarket, we came across a stone arched walkway through lush climbing flowers. We couldn't figure out how to get there, but it reinforced our impression that this was one of the nicest towns we'd seen in our travels. Even the bank (Santander) building was ridiculously attractive; it had an ornate balcony straight from a medieval castle.

We opted to return to the boat around lunchtime, and shared the tram back with an enormous number of people off for a day at the seaside, meaning that the trip back was rather less comfortable. In the afternoon we tried to visit another cala further along the coast, but were forced to go back to Port de Sóller again as the anchorage was just too full. We did see dolphins, which always brightens the spirits, but our trip to the town in the morning was definitely the highlight of the day.

The Yachting Capital of the World

The cathedral dominates the skyline from the waterfront

Palma, probably the only real city in the Balearics, is known as the yachting capital of the world. So are quite a few other places, in fairness, which suggests that there's some hyperbole going on, but the rows upon rows of shiny white yachts that have braved the extortionate summer prices for a marina spot attest to its popularity among sailors. 

So, naturally, we got the bus. Apart from anything else, half an hour in an air-conditioned vehicle is a tempting prospect in the heat of a Mallorcan summer. As ever, the chief source of our excitement about seeing a new city, one with a huge variety of tourists attractions, was several well-stocked supermarkets. Here we could find all those ingredients we've been forced to go without! 

Or not. We didn't try very hard, admittedly, not bothering to go looking for a large Carrefour, but the Supermercado in El Corte Ingles (an enormous Mecca of a department store) held almost nothing we haven't found elsewhere since we've been away. 

Never mind. Palma is still a beautiful city, and we were delighted by the abundance of green space and trees everywhere. Having walked past the grandiose cathedral, put off from going inside by the size of the queue, we turned down a tiny side-street at random and came to an open set of gates with a sign telling us that whatever was inside was open, but failing to mention what that might be. We wandered in, and found that it was a small walled garden, one half of which appeared to be growing chilli peppers while the other was ornamental and gorgeous. A tree with impossibly bright pink flowers hung over a pond full of waterlilies and fallen pink blossoms; further along were rows of huge spherical blue flowers and at the end stood a stone basin with drinking water. We splashed ourselves with water in a vain attempt to cool down a little and wandered off again.

The tourist industry evidently plays up this almost quaint charm; along every other attractive street are horse-drawn carriages in the dappled shade, and as you explore the old town you're bound to hear clopping hooves behind you or a more distant jingle as the carriages take their occupants on sedate tours. 

Horse-drawn carriages all in a row

Having taken care of our shopping requirements, we returned to the cathedral to find the queue much diminished and paid €7 each to visit it. A lot of the detail seemed a little too elaborate and too dependent on gold to be entirely to my taste, but when taken as a whole it was rather lovely, the lighting and stained glass windows combining to create a warm glow. One small, bizarre chapel designed by Gaudi, though, was quite charming in its oddness. The windows look as though they've been damaged by fire, while both walls are covered in a seascape, complete with curling waves near the roof. It's completely out of character with the rest of the cathedral, and has a rather sinister feel to it, but I liked it for precisely that reason.

As the afternoon wore on, we bought ice creams (from a shop claiming to sell the best gelato in the world, which seemed unlikely outside Italy) and retired to a long, pedestrianised avenue lined with benches to consume them. We had a perfect view of the cathedral (the photo below was taken from our bench) and a gentle breeze, which somehow managed to occasionally scatter us with water droplets from a fountain a hundred yards away.

Palma's cathedral peeks out from behind the greenery of a small park

We hadn't exactly taken advantage of being in the yachting capital of the world, but despite the number and scale of the marinas in the harbour, it didn't strike us as being particularly impressive. On the other hand, if we do find ourselves in need of obscure bits for the boat, we may well become converts to Palma's yachting facilities. 

Looking out across the harbour

In general, visiting Palma outside the hottest summer months is probably a much better idea; by the time we left, sitting down again in the air-conditioned bus was about the best thing we could imagine.

A new landmass! And it's only taken us two and a half months.

At last, after a very long time in Ibiza and Formentera, we've moved on to Mallorca. We were getting very comfortable in the now familiar anchorages we'd spent our time in - and of course they were (mostly) lovely - but both the anchorages and towns were becoming far too crowded to be enjoyable. Spending your days watching out for other boats about to hit you as they drop anchor is about as much fun as it sounds.

On the other hand, the weather has hardly favoured a crossing from Ibiza to Mallorca. There have been almost constant easterlies for weeks now, and ideally we'd need a westerly wind to sail over. Well, there was no such thing appearing on the forecast, but a very light southerly was due yesterday. Not perfect, but at least the wind wouldn't be against us.

The wind turned out to be virtually non-existent, which meant having the engine on for ten hours straight, but with a flat sea and surprisingly comfortable temperatures we had a very pleasant crossing. Somehow it felt nothing like the long slog of our crossing from the mainland to Ibiza, despite the constant chug of the engine. Perhaps we're just getting used to having to motor everywhere, thanks to the less-than-helpful winds of the Med.

The nearest sensible anchorage was Santa Ponsa, an extremely touristy holiday resort but with an entirely different atmosphere to, say, San Antonio. Here the holiday-makers are predominantly families, and while it's very built-up and half the signs you see are in English, it's clearly been designed to be as agreeable as possible. Behind the beach is a large park-like area shaded by abundant trees, which are also everywhere within the town, between buildings and along the wide streets. Even better, we noticed a very British restaurant offering Sunday roasts and the opportunity to watch the Wimbledon final, which has settled our plans for tomorrow!

The view from our back deck, towards the beach

We're allowing ourselves around six weeks to see Mallorca, so on Monday we plan to move on again, to another anchorage closer to Palma, that will give us the chance to see the yachting capital of the Med. We've heard there are four Carrefours in Palma, which, embarrassingly, is the chief source of our excitement about going there. Sailing the world, and all we care about are supermarkets.

Looking out towards the sea end of the anchorage

Fixing your boat in exotic locations

There's a rueful joke in the sailing community: that cruising can be defined as fixing your boat in exotic locations. I'm not sure why I call it a 'joke', because it's entirely accurate.

It's mid-afternoon on a fabulously sunny day. We're securely anchored in a rugged, gorgeous little cala, with startingly turquoise water surrounded by steep, pine-covered slopes, and we are trying to persuade our water-maker to function. It is having none of it.

We had originally planned to test it out on the mainland, so that if anything were wrong parts could be easily acquired to fix it; in retrospect this was an excellent idea.

It's not wholly clear what's wrong. Our little water-maker is putting heart and soul into doing something. It's pumping in seawater and pumping out waste-water in small, comical spurts just as it's supposed to. But the part where it produces clean, fresh drinking water - one of the very best functions of a water-maker - eludes it. It hasn't even covered the base of a bucket with water, and the dribble it has managed is salty.

But never mind. Peter, who is starting to cultivate some of my natural ability to track down a silver lining, no matter how elusive, comments, 'Well, at least it's not as noisy as I thought it might be.'

Quite right too.


While you're here, have a look at some pictures that bear little to no relevance to this post - including one of a rock with none-too-distant resemblance to Queen Victoria - because it really is terribly pretty here.

OK, so an argument could really be made for any monarch. Or sitting person.

There and back again

Well, what a long way we’ve come.

It took about four days of travelling to get to San Antonio, Ibiza - or Sant Antoni de Portmany, as it’s known to those who aren’t alcohol-sodden British tourists. That was about two weeks ago, and we’re still here.

It’s not that we don’t want to see other places; really, we do. But we’ve found a nice, sheltered anchorage, with lots of restaurants and supermarkets - and while we’re sure it’ll be hideous in the height of summer, out of season the bay is delightful. I went for a kayak this morning and saw a dozen tiny flying fish leap from the water ten feet away.

But the sensation of not wanting to leave is starting to feel all too familiar. Couldn’t San Antonio be our home away from home? No! It mustn’t! We’re supposed to be cruising, not getting to one place and staying put for another six months!

So we forced ourselves to move on today, and headed off for a more remote little cala - called, ambitiously, 'Puerto de San Miguel' - a few miles down the coast. 

It was a beautiful anchorage, and the sea is now warm enough to swim in - just - so our afternoon was really quite perfect. 

I tried out my new underwater camera, and we were amazed at the quantity and variety of fish darting about around us.

Still, did we really want to stay here all night? we asked ourselves. We were a little too close to the rocks at the edge of the water, and we didn’t much like the sound of the water slapping against them. In San Antonio such noises are obscured by the loud music blasting out of the clubs and bars lining the beach. And if we went back to San Antonio - why, we could go out for Sunday lunch! Wouldn’t that be lovely?

So that’s how, after two weeks in San Antonio, we’re still here, despite having left yesterday morning. Sardinia is beginning to look like wishful thinking.

Setting Off Again (Or, A Love Letter To Cartagena)

Cartagena, my beloved, my jewel, my princess,

How I shall mourn your elegant marbled streets when we must part at last. What can I do but weep when no longer can I gaze upon the streams of water erupting from your abundant fountains, the roses bedecking your verdant parks? Whose notion to transform this town in the dry, dusty South  into this green and pleasant land?

OK, that style’s getting a little exhausting, but Cartagena really is almost too good to be true, and entirely worthy of a little rhapsodising. And, yes, we arrived to see real grass for the first time in hundreds of miles along the southern Spanish coast, with beautifully tended borders of roses. Not forgetting their two thousand year old Roman amphitheatre, of course, but I can't really give credit to Cartagena's town planners for that.

We actually got quite choked up when it came to leaving. I think we’d have struggled to persuade ourselves to go if we hadn’t decided to come back for this winter; we’ve left our folding bikes and two anchors in the marinero’s office so we don’t have much choice now. Oh, how terrible for us. We’ve had a wonderful six (and a half) months there and we noticed, as we made away further up the coast on our first day’s sail, that we were referring to the place we’d just left as ‘home’.

The concept of ‘home’ existing, for a start, in a sense beyond the boat itself, and of it being somewhere we’ve actually chosen for ourselves, rather than settling for the worst of several bad options, is a new and strange one. It probably would be for most people, but after you’ve headed off on a grand adventure, leaving home behind deliberately, it seems like quite a luxury.

We’re anchored up in Torrevieja harbour currently, feeling a little lost. This isn’t the sort of town it’s worth leaving Cartagena for. We were hardly expecting it to be. The Balearics are the first destination we’re aiming for, and by all accounts they really are worth seeing. But even so, there's a little part of me screaming that she wants to go home.

Oh! And we saw two bottlenose dolphins alongside Jade today. Good omen, right? 

Migrating

As my inaugural entry, I present to you my previous blog location, where you can find a pretty detailed record of our first season's cruising:

Cruising with the Kitties - TravelPod

You served me well, TravelPod, but I'm afraid I'm moving on. I liked your map features, but that was about it. I can't base loyalty upon map features alone. It's not like I can't find them elsewhere.

Here, for example.

You're frustratingly controlling, and it just isn't working anymore. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to steal your map.

So, that's where we've got up to. Except we're not actually in Barcelona now, we're at the previous green dot, Cartagena.

If the weather ever starts behaving itself, we'll be heading to the Balearics, which you can just about make out on that map. And then we'll spent the next several months pottering about there and doing very little indeed, which is just the way we like it.

At the moment, however, we're stuck in Cartagena with strong winds from exactly the wrong direction. We're taking a philosophic attitude towards this, though, as we're not sure we really want to leave here anyway. If the wind blew from the wrong direction all summer - well, I think we'd shrug it off quite easily.

It looks like this here, you see:

More to come when we finally manage to get going - or possibly when we give up altogether and just decide to live here.