Delusions of grandeur

'There's something strange and special about travelling by boat. It's still quite early in the morning, and I'm on watch while Peter goes back to bed for a while. I feel a sudden sense of peaceful solitude, despite the roar of the engine and Peter's presence only a few feet away.

Looking towards a distant Ibiza

I go to stand on the back deck in the sun, hands on hips, and survey the world. There's land not far away, but sparkling blue stretches endlessly to the east, with no other boats anywhere in sight. I am in charge of this boat, I think, but what I really mean is, I am in charge of this ocean. Which is quite the excess of grandiosity when you're talking about the Mediterranean Sea.

It's a deceptive megalomania, too. In the face of the might of the weather and waves, feeling powerful is all illusion; it is only on days like this, when the wind is gentle and the sea kind, tht you could even imagine any equality between their majesty and your little boat.

So, it is unquestionable fallacy to take this sense of limitlessness and draw from it omnipotence. But it's a nice feeling.'



The above was written a few days ago, on passage, and sits in stark contrast to our current mood. Today, gloomy, we sit in San Antonio bay, Ibiza, under grey skies with strong westerly winds promised. We arrived here nearly a week ago, the boredom of the long journey at least broken up by the appearance of dolphins, and haven't moved since. It feels a little like being stuck in limbo, to be stationary again so soon after setting off.

We wanted a few days to relax, of course, but now less than helpful winds have trapped us. Willow sits on the back deck, staring at seagulls. Sometimes she miaows at us in disgruntled tones. We watch TV, read and play mindless video games. It's amazing how dispiriting a dull day becomes when you're living at anchor.

Somehow, Sardinia seems a very long way away.

Who needs to be brave anyway?

So much for plans.

It was much lumpier than we'd expected, coming out of Cartagena's harbour. Realistically, it wasn't a particularly heavy swell; but just one metre of swell when you're heading straight into it makes for an uncomfortable time. The cat didn't stop complaining, in alternating tones of fear, distress and indignation, for a good hour, and the motion was making us seasick.

It was not a promising beginning, and we had a very long way to go.

Napping: the best possible activity on passage

So with little ado, we revised our expectations downwards and made Torrevieja our destination instead, making for a much more manageable seven hour passage and the comforting knowledge that we could be anchored not long after lunchtime. When we started to turn north, the going became much easier anyway, the swell subsiding and Willow following my example and settling down for a nap. Nonetheless, a shorter day retained its appeal, and as the weather forecast is now indicating that we can't cross to Ibiza until Thursday, it doesn't make too much difference how far we get today.

The downside to Torrevieja is that it is one of the ugliest place imaginable. It baffles me that people look at this place and buy holiday homes here. Yes, it's sunny a lot of the time and it has a beach, but the same could be said of an awful lot of towns that don't look like this:



But the one thing Torrevieja does have to recommend it is its shelter. It's a completely enclosed anchorage, so even if the scenery leaves a little to be desired we'll have a comfortable night. Which is about all we care about today.

Leaving Cartagena, Take Two

When we arrived back in Cartagena, at the start of September last year, I remember feeling a profound sense of relief that we were here, 'home', and that we would have six months of blissful staying put before having to leave again. It seemed like such a wonderfully distant idea, setting out again - but now it's April and the moment is upon us.

Tomorrow, probably around 5 in the morning, we will cast off our lines and trundle out into the blue.

Now, this is not to say that we don't want to set off cruising again, only that the prospect becomes strangely daunting after months of comfortable security and stability in port. We're also planning on a 24 hour passage straight to Ibiza, rather than gently hopping up the Spanish coast before making the shortest crossing possible, with the idea of getting into the spirit of proper passages right off the bat. A fine and noble goal, but it can't be said that we're gently easing ourselves back into the travelling lifestyle.

It's been in some ways a very uneventful winter. We've spent our days lazily, for the most part, taking short strolls around the city, eating frozen yoghurt, reading in the sun. In an effort to do something useful, I helped out with an English class for local children, run completely free of charge by a friend from the marina (who was consistently described as 'crazy' for subjecting her beautiful flat to the ravages of half a dozen small Spanish children), which was great fun and not nearly as taxing as our friend's frequent apologies for the mayhem made it seem.

Our beautiful cat, Willow Cinnamon Pounce

Most significantly, we've been adopted by a cat, who followed us home one night in late September (with, admittedly, some encouragement) and has taken to life on board our boat with great aplomb. Whether she'll be similarly adaptable when she's on board a moving boat, or a boat with no access to land for her to explore, is another matter, but we're hopeful she'll cope fairly well. 

We've also made the decision to get married - which is a strange thing to say when you've been engaged for two and a half years. But we have Plans now, which is quite a step up from the vague ideas that preceeded them. As long as Sardinia is as beautiful as it's supposed to be, we'll be hiring a villa there and doing the deed in May of next year.

Our intended route for this season takes us quickly through the Balearics - although we might give Menorca a bit more time than Ibiza or Mallorca, as we haven't been there before - and then on to Sardinia, which will involve a two day passage, longer than we've attempted before. We plan to spend most of the summer in Sardinia and Corsica before heading back towards Cartagena in August, where we expect to arrive at the start of September, allowing us to fly back for the first of the year's weddings. It's going to be quite a weddingy 12 months!

For now, though, we just need to muster our courage and take to the sea. It is, after all, what sailors do.

Looking out to sea from Cartagena