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.