Spending time in Gioia Tauro

8th-21st September

We were quite comfortable in the harbour in Gioia Tauro. It helped that Sheenagh had a car and we could get out and about, see something of the countryside and also visit a large supermarket (more than once!) and get in supplies without having to walk several kilometres carrying heavy bags. However, the walk into town turned out to be much easier than the pilot book had suggested and Tony and I enjoyed strolling in there of a morning, drinking a coffee and buying a few supplies before wandering back. As you may have gathered, we like our little routines! It helped that at the end of the first week there was a storm and torrential rain, which lowered the daytime temperatures a little.

But not before we had wandered round Tropea in the sweltering heat. It is a lovely cliff-top town, with several views down on to the local beaches and to a sea that is breathtaking, a brilliant aquamarine and crystal-clear. So it was hot: it was still worthwhile not only for the town itself, but the drive through some of the most beautiful scenery: more mountains and valleys and glimpses of the sea.

Even more worthwhile was the trip to Etna. I think none of us thought we would actually get there. We left late and then enjoyed a long, leisurely lunch before setting off once again, following signs to 'Etna'. We passed through several towns, the narrow streets necessitating complicated one-way systems, and then, suddenly we had reached the level of the newest lava flows... dense black, there is little that grows except here and there some small patches of rough grass. The road, as always, wound its way round the mountain in a series of hairpin bends and then, suddenly we were there at the top... well, the bottom of the top. We had arrived as far as it was possible to get by car. From then on it was on foot or by cable car and safari jeep.

It is one of those landscapes that might as well be on the moon so little does it resemble what we are used to seeing. It is all black ash and dust, strange shapes, conical eruptions, empty craters, steep slopes. We took the cable car to the first stage for a slightly closer look at the volcano but we had arrived late in the afternoon and Tony didn't think we had time to take the safari tour to the crater. Now, I wish we had... perhaps there will be another opportunity. Another... One Day We Will Do That!!! to add to the growing list. You may have gathered that I find volcanoes fascinating, the idea of all this geological activity, explosions, hot lava flows... hot springs... pumice floating on the sea. The best was Nisiros, one of the Greek Dodecanese Islands, where we actually did make it to the crater... but that's another story.

For now, we are on Etna, it is hot, there is smoke coming from the crater, and there are people wandering everywhere. Now, in Italy it seems that the young, and possibly the not-so-young, love graffiti. On Etna the graffiti took the form of names marked out in small stones... Mario loves Laura... Fabrizio 10.9.2008... it seemed that leaving a memento of the visit was an essential part of the experience.

On Friday we were told that the boat was arriving that afternoon and that Twelfth of Never would be loaded Saturday morning... that was as we were leaving for Etna so when we got back it was a mad rush to get all the final jobs done, ready to move round to the commercial port at seven o'clock the next morning. Seven o'clock came and went. Then eight o'clock, nine o'clock... the captain who was to take here round finally arrived around half past nine and everyone waited... and waited... finally, just before eleven, the word came, they were ready for us... Tony and the boys went off on Twelfth of Never, Sheenagh and I watching, rather regretting electing not to go with them... the day was hot, the sun unforgiving... we sat and we chatted.

There were regular updates by telephone. They were tied to the quay... it was a long way up from Twelfth of Never to the Quay... No-one seemed to be in charge... Tony and the boys were doing all the work... no-one had any tools... the mast was off... it was chaos they told us. Then... everyone has gone away they wailed... nothing is happening... THEN... they have lost a part of the cradle... they cannot load the boat today, we will have to wait for the next boat...

So back they came to the harbour, to wait... they were hot and tired and I think Tony was suffering from spending much too much time under the full glare of the blazing sun. So dinner at the local restaurant... followed by a quiet Sunday and a slow Monday.

The week flew past: some days pottering about on the boat, wandering into town, some days out sightseeing. Sheenagh and I indulged in a few trips to the supermarket... and we ate and we talked and we played Uno... and no word about when the next boat would arrive... and then we were told... Saturday. This time they had everything they needed and Twelfth of Never made it onto the boat. Then, to my great relief, Stephen and Alex helped us get the anchor up and stored in the locker!!! As with coming into the harbour, we had moved off before I even had time to think about it... and then we were tying up on the fuel quay and I wasn't ready... I had the wrong fenders, I didn't have the right mooring lines... oh... we're moored...

We passed our last night in Gioia Tauro lying alongside the fuel quay. A final dinner out... a final game of Uno... and time for bed.

First Days in Gioia Tauro

8th-21st September

Gioia Tauro is a huge container port. Once upon a time there was land there, olive groves and citrus groves, a fertile plain bordering the sea. Now the land has been dredged and a new port built, huge walls protecting it from the wrath of the sea. Behind the walls is the long, narrow port, four kilometres of it, where the giant container ships come to be unloaded and loaded. It was onto one of these ships that Twelfth of Never was to be loaded and consigned to Singapore.

Behind the container port, tucked into a corner, was the small harbour where Ron had organised berths for both boats. We found the entrance to the main harbour easily enough but after that it became a little more difficult. Desperately, we scanned the shore, hoping for some sign that there was a break in the wall, evidence of the smaller port behind. Eventually I spied some masts and then...was that the gap we were looking for? Tony confirmed it... there was the entrance. At the same time we were keeping a lookout for container ships as we had already waited outside the main harbour while two enormous monsters slowly edged their way out. And then, the best help possible... a fishing boat was entering the smaller port. Joy!!! We could follow it. We were glad of their lead because they took a strange route in order to avoid shallow patches. Then we saw Twelfth of Never and, before I realised it, we were almost berthed... bow first!!!

This has definitely been a year for trying new things. We have never berthed bow first before, believing that the bow is too high, that getting on and off would be too difficult... once we were tied up to the quay Tony set about getting the kedge anchor out of the anchor locker (at the front of the boat), carrying it back to the stern trailing heavy chain and thick rope, putting it into the dinghy, after which Alex and Stephen rowed it out into the harbour, where they dropped it. Tony was then able to tighten the line thus holding Ganaymede off the quay. For the two weeks we were there I vaguely worried about how we were going to get out without someone to help us pull up the anchor and put it away, because there would be no electric windlass to help us and Sheenagh and the boys would have gone on their way, back to France and England.

The harbour was tiny. On the opposite side were some floating pontoons, all full, no spaces available for visiting boats. Further along, hugging the wall, was another pontoon, small day boats taking up every available space. On our side of the harbour there was a quay with five or six fishing boats, none of which seemed ever to leave the harbour, a couple of coastguard boats and, immediately next to Twelfth of Never, two large fire boats. Immediately next to Ganymede there was a flotilla of small fishing boats and day boats. There were too many of them to all be tied directly onto the quay so there was a system whereby a line went from the wall to a buoy about twenty metres into the harbour. One boat was then able to tie up to the wall while five or six others tied on to the line front and back... There were maybe a dozen such lines and it was quite an effort for the boats to make their way in and out. Nevertheless, many of the small fishing boats went out very early each morning and although when they returned I watched carefully (or so I thought) I was never able to discover whether they actually caught any fish.

Ron headed back to France, back to work. Sheenagh went with him by taxi to the airport at Reggio Calabria, where she hired a car. There were some men working on the fire boat and Tony asked if there was a bar nearby where we could go for coffee, yes, was the answer... but we are going that way, come with us, we will show you... so off went Tony and came back within minutes... the bar was indeed close by. And it had a small restaurant. Naturally, then, our first foray out of the harbour was to the restaurant to enjoy a simple Italian lunch.

The days were still hot, the relentless sun beating down on us mercilessly. Now that there was a car available we were able to go into town. According to the pilot guide it was a good thirty minute walk into town, with not much shade... but from the car it didn't look too bad. In the town, food shops, clothes shops, bars and restaurants. By chance we found the bar that supposedly served the best coffee. It certainly was delicious.
We had no news of when Twelfth of Never would be loaded, The container ship had yet to arrive and so we passed the days pottering around on the boats, visiting the town, eating in the local restaurant and sightseeing.

Inland, the countryside is spectacular with high mountains and lush, green valleys. When we went out in the car Sheenagh and Alex shared the driving but Alex somehow managed to get the worst bits: the hairpin bends, the mountain roads. Our first excursion was to Vibo Valentia, along winding roads, through small towns, confronted by sudden valleys, views of the sea, of the mountains. But we didn't stop when we got there preferring to negotiate our way through the traffic and down to the sea. We stopped in Vibo Marina and ended up having a drink in the bar of one of the marinas there. It was quiet, relaxing. I liked it. Just for interest, I decided to get some information about over-wintering there. I know... our plan was made, it was to be Corfu for the winter! But still... just for interest...

And then we headed home, trying not to head back up the hill to Vibo Valentia again... it was a VERY twisty road. Eventually we came to Tropea, or the outskirts. What a first view of it we had! The marina tucked into the bay down below and then, suddenly, to see the mediaeval town, high on a cliff, the houses built out to the very edge. Stunning! As it was late, we decided to visit it the next day.

After that, try as we might, all roads seemed to lead to Vibo Valentia. We did get home, eventually, but I am sure towards the end Alex was exhausted and no longer appreciating the beauty of the scenery.

Vulcano

4th-7th September

The island of Vulcano is another of our favourite spots. It is the most southerly of the Aeolian Islands, a group of seven islands of vulcanic origin of which the most famous is Stromboli. There are two safe anchorages, one to the east, the other the west, separated by a small isthmus. We always choose the eastern anchorage, nearer the town and just outside the harbour. It is always busy with boats at anchor and ferries rushing in and out all day long.

Ashore there is a hot spring, a sulphur mud bath. It is an experience, sitting there in this cloudy, grey water that can be very hot in places, bubbles rising all around, covering oneself in the malodorous whitish-grey mud. There are always lots of people: sitting in the opaque water, rubbing mud on faces, arms, necks, legs, standing ankle-deep in the water or on the side of the pool allowing the mud to dry hard before washing it all off and starting again. There are signs: Please Wash Mud Off Before Going into the Sea. I think the mud may be running out... A word of warning: always warn friends who plan to go there, wear an old swimsuit, one that can be thrown away afterwards, because it will never be the same again.

Although small, the mud baths are the dominating feature of Vulcano, more because the smell of the sulphur is all-pervasive than because it is an obvious feature of the landscape. After a few days it seems to get into everything, sometimes just a hint, sometimes so strong it almost hurts to breathe. I find that eventually I get a headache. But even so, I love going there.

Vulcano is not a particularly attractive town, at least, not in a picture postcard way. There are no elegant buildings, no narrow alleys, no beautiful churches. What there is is life, lots of it. The town thrives on tourism and all day long there are people arriving or leaving, shopping, eating, relaxing, walking through the small town. The main beach is on the other side, near the other anchorage. A thermal swimming pool has been constructed recently with, according to the brochure, various pools all at difference temperatures. It all looks very exciting. And for those visitors who want to explore the island, it is possible to rent bicycles, scooters, quad bikes. I think the whole island can be covered in less than a day.

Then there are the organised hikes up to the crater of the main volcano, which is still slightly active. Well, there is smoke... a little. But it does seem to be more each year. It is always too hot when we visit to even consider the hike. Every year I promise myself I will go and every year the heat beats me. This year was no better. I think that the days since we arrived in Sicily have been the hottest of the summer, no matter that it is now September. I had forgotten just how unbearable it is. One morning I talked to a woman in a shop who told me that that day was to be particularly hot... Oh no, not hotter, I just couldn't cope! So, once again, no walk up to the crater. But it is there to look at, above the town, the top devoid of vegetation, smoke appearing in various places along the ridge and occasionally further down the mountainside.

There is a Centre for the Study of Volcanoes and eventually Tony and I managed to find it. It wasn't easy. Although they seem to want visitors they also seem not to know how to advertise themselves. Which is a shame because it was interesting. Obviously the main study is of Stromboli and they had a short film showing amazing footage of the eruption that took place in 2002/3.

After a few days it was time to move on. Ron and Sheenagh had caught up with us once again and I particularly wanted them to visit Stromboli, to see the volcano at night, passing on the western side where they would see the eruptions that take place every fifteen to twenty minutes. It is the most remarkable sight, lava exploding out of the crater, shooting up a hundred feet in the air before landing and rolling down the mountain. Nothing grows, there is nothing but black lava scree running down from the crater, about a kilometre wide when it reaches the sea. And the sea... it is a deep, deep blue, almost black. Even fifty metres from the shore it is already a hundred metres deep.

Our first stop would be the island of Panarea. In the past we have anchored away from the town in a small bay with a few houses on the shore and space for maybe three or four boats.
I had long wanted to try the anchorage in front of the town so that was where we headed, from Vulcano along the coast of Lipari and then to Panarea, Stromboli in sight all the time, puffs of smoke emitting at regular intervals. The anchorage looked doubtful. There were mooring buoys scattered everywhere but we had no idea whether we could pick one up and if we did, would it be strong enough to hold Ganymede should the weather turn bad. We dropped anchor, didn't like where we were, moved and dropped anchor again. Then we went ashore.

The town was slightly disappointing. I don't know what I had expected. Perhaps a prettier version of Vulcano, perhaps a larger village, more elegant shops and restaurants ... There were lots of people sitting around when we arrived, waiting, looking bored. We wandered along the harbour, passing a few shops and cafés, and then back. By the time we had chosen a bar to sit in and enjoy a cool drink a ferry had come and gone... and so had all the people. Perhaps I got the wrong impression but I think Panarea may be best seen from the sea. On shore there seemed little for the visitor to do other than eat and drink, at least in the suffocating heat of summer... in cooler weather I am sure there are lovely walks and I know from going ashore at the other anchorage that there are lovely villas, their gardens lush with brightly coloured shrubs: bougainvilea, oleander, hibiscus, summer jasmine. The narrow lanes are wide enough only for the golf carts that are used as taxis (as they are on Stromboli also).

Tony and I spent the night at anchor while the others continued on their way, timing their passage in order to pass Stromboli as soon as darkness fell and then on to Gioia Tauro, their final destination. We slept soundly and then made an early start to arrive in Gioia Tauro just after midday.

Cefalú

31st August to 4th September

From Mondello it is an afternoon cruise past Palermo Bay (this time we made no detour into the bay, no overnight stop in Palermo for dinner in one of the fine restaurants in Piazza Marina) to reach the anchorage at Zafferano, on the far side of the bay before nightfall... our arrival planned for after the day boats have gone home so that we didn't have to struggle to find a good spot. It worked perfectly and we passed a quiet night at anchor, only the moon, the stars and the lights on shore to keep us company.

Next day we made our way to Cefalú. That morning, finally, we heard from Ron and Sheenagh, a message on our Spanish phone number: they were on their way to Castellammare!

From Zafferano to Cefalú is a distance of some 20 miles, an easy passage, and in no time we were approaching the town. First the huge rock that stands above the old town, then the cathedral and finally the buildings of the town, winding slowly down the hill and almost into the sea.

Now, I know it won't surprise you to learn that we like Cefalú... a lot. It is breathtaking, awesome.

When we first visited Cefalú we always anchored in the bay in front of the town and took the dinghy the short distance to the tiny little harbour. It is a lovely spot but, as the pilot guide warns, there is often a swell, sometimes untenable, and after one particularly bad night we moved round to the new harbour and discovered the wonderful anchorage there. So now, although it is a longer walk into town, that is where we go. We are behind the rock here, although it still dominates. There is the fishing harbour with a marina and, of course, summer pontoons for all the small boats, The scenery is about as good as it gets, the mountains, the villas scattered around, boats at anchor, cliffs and rocks.

The walk into town winds up from the bay and then down into the narrow alleys and streets of the old town. There you are met with an abundance of small shops.. tourists shops selling tea towels and post cards and pottery and... and... and. Then there are the food shops selling wine, and meats, and vegetables, Sicilian delicacies of all types. And the shops selling hats, antiques, clothes, jewellery. Of course, there are also bars, ice-cream parlours and restaurants. There is a terrace where you can sit and look over the small harbour. The main square is in front of the duomo (cathedral) and that is where we often sit and drink a coffee, watching people go by.

This visit we seemed to discover a lot of new parts of the town. For the first time in seven years the duomo was open to visitors. We think it may have been closed for renovations in previous years because there is still evidence of on-going projects. It is so beautiful, even in its current, unfinished state. Light and airy and cool. In summer I like nothing better than to sit in a church for a while, just sit, cool down, and enjoy the peace. Then I am energised, ready to go out and join the world again. I bought a paper that gave an excellent explanation of the symbolism in the various paintings in the cathedral. I must keep it for future visits to Italian churches because I am sure it would serve equally well for any religious painting.

From the cathedral we deviated from our usual route downwards, back through the town and instead headed slightly upwards and above the town following signposts to 'Diana's Temple'... until they ran out. We continued on, in spite of the heat, keeping in the shade, looking down over the town, over the rooftops and on down to the sea. Behind us was the rock and on top, I forgot to mention before, the old castle. Eventually we reached the last part of the road... closed Tuesday said the sign. Of course, it was Tuesday. I think we were relieved. It had been quite a climb and looked like being steeper still and we had already enjoyed some wonderful views of the rooftops and the sea so it was time to head down again.

Back in town, it was lunchtime. There are some lovely restaurants that have terraces overlooking the sea and we repaired to one of them. I had to check a number of menus before we settled (Tony would have gone to the first one...) and happily it was a good choice. We sat at a table on a small balcony off the main restaurant. Just us at our little table. Below was a terrace built out over the rocks and that is where most of the other diners were seated. No-one wanted to eat indoors on such a day.

As we ate I noticed that a number of people were passing by on the seaward side, there seemed to be a small path, but I didn't know how far it went. I asked a waiter as we were leaving and he to said that in one direction it led to the little port in the town, in the other to the fishing port. Hmmm. Could we exit that side instead of going back out into the town? We could and did.

The town is built straight out of the sea. For the most part there is only the smallest area of rock between the sea and the walls of houses, or the town wall. Some time recently a path has been made along the outside of the walls, a path made by filling gaps between rocks with concrete so that it is easy to walk along, steps have been constructed where necessary, there is even a bridge or two. After a long lunch was perhaps not the best time to tackle it, but there was a cooling breeze blowing off the sea and we were in shade almost all the time, so it could have been worse. And it was such a great walk!!! We didn't really believe that it would come out in the fishing port... and it didn't. I may have been quite glad about that as the final part of the path would have taken us along the outside of the town sewage plant...

However, having congratulated ourselves that we hadn't had to climb the long hill that leads out of town before the descent once more to the port, we were suddenly faced with a flight of steps that was, oh, one hundred times worse! Straight up they went. We needed several stops to rest and then, at the top, the bar where we always stop on our way back from town. A long, cool drink was just what the doctor ordered!

Ron and Sheenagh arrived early next morning after a night passage from Castellammare so we enjoyed a second day of exploring. The cathedral was being dressed up with white roses and ribbons... one detail was that three white roses and a trailing white ribbon were placed at the end of each pew...so simple, so effective. A wedding was to take place. It was obviously going to be quite an affair.

We visited the cloisters - another first - the lady on the door explained that it had been allowed to fall into disrepair but that it was now slowly being restored. The plans sounded fantastic, to include, among other things, a new garden. I'm looking forward to next year's visit.

Crowds started to gather outside the cathedral around four o'clock, the time of the wedding. I had forgotten that in Sicily the favourite colour for wedding guests is black. It is rare to see a woman dressed in any other colour and if she is, she certainly stands out. Such elegant outfits the women were wearing. I must mention a brilliant blue dress that was memorable for its oppulance. The wearer looked uncomfortable, perhaps she wasn't Italian... or Sicilian... (after all, the groom was from Rome we had discovered) and hadn't known the unofficial 'dress code'. We tried to guess which man was the groom... but then the guests started heading inside. The bride arrived by horse and carriage, glowing with happiness.

We wandered off, through the narrow streets, window shopping, looking up at cast iron balconies, admiring the architecture, commenting that most of the renovation work seemed to be on religious buildings, stopping for granita, and then, quite without plan, we were back at the duomo. An hour had passed and still people were waiting around. The horse and carriage were still there as was the cutest little 1950 car, bedecked in white roses, of course. People arrived with balloons... but no sign of the bride and groom emerging from the church. 'Who is getting married' asked an old lady of the town. When given an answer she sort of 'hmpphed' - obviously didn't like the family much, but like the rest of us, she waited.

When eventually the bride and groom came out, after almost two hours, two white doves were released. Then the balloons. And the happy couple posed for photos in the old car. The bride went round the guests that were standing around, accepting their congratulations, offering sparkling wine, sharing her happiness. Aren't weddings wonderful?

We wound our way back to the anchorage, back to Ganymede, and eventually shared dinner on board Ganymede with Ron, Sheenagh and Stephen and Alex, their sons. Next day we headed for Vulcano... or at least Tony and I did. The others took a longer route and stopped overnight at Capo Orlando.

Mondello

29th - 31 August

Another beautiful sail. I remembered how much I love this northern coast of Sicily with its rolling hills and high mountains, layer upon layer of mountain range, or so it seems as we pass along near the coast. It was a perfect, lazy afternoon, knowing we had lots of time to get to Mondello Bay before nightfall. Tony wants me to mention that part of our route involved passing Palermo airport, quite close to the runway at one point. One of the planes coming in to land seemed too close for comfort, I crossed my fingers, hoped our mast wasn't too high which, of course, it couldn't have been or sailing boats would not be allowed in that particular area.

Mondello is another of those Sicilian towns that we visit whenever we are passing by. The town developed as a beach resort in the 19th century when rich merchants from Palermo started to build large villas there. The magnificent bathing pavilion that dominates the sea- front dates from that time. Unusually for this region, most of the 2km beach has been taken over by private clubs and access for the occasional visitor seems to be limited, but that is only my impression. I assume that seasonal visitors buy a temporary membership and then enjoy all the facilities that each club offers, from sun loungers to pedaloes to windsurfers and small sailing dinghies and whatever other entertainments the beach visitor demands.

Next morning we went ashore. The small harbour was unchanged, pontoons full of small pleasure boats (most of the harbour is too shallow for anything else), a place on the quay for the Guardia Costiera boat and the tour boat that comes in a couple of times a day and various small fishing boats tied alongside the quay. As usual, we found a place by the steps, tied up the dinghy and went off for our cappuccino and some shopping. As usual, the harbour area was a bit untidy, in need of a good spring clean, but full of life, full of activity.

Our first stop was the main square for coffee. As we approached I thought, oh, there is one of those 'living' statues, and was waiting for him to bow and thank whoever had put a coin in his collecting hat. As with the' Sailor Home From the Sea' in Cartagena, I had been fooled. Here was another of those lifelike statues, this one of a musician, violin at the ready, waiting to join in the music. At least I recognised it was a statue this time, only it was a real one, not someone pretending... Looking round there were several others, sitting on benches, reading newspapers, standing looking out to sea. They all had a 1950s American look to them and later I discovered that the sculptor was from Washington. I noticed that children loved to stop by them and touch them.

A leisurely coffee, well, leisurely by my standards, not leisurely enough for Tony, and it was time to investigate the food shops. There is a fruit and vegetable cum grocer cum salumeria on one of the corners of the square, a shop that has everything but not enough space to put it and too many customers for them to all get in the shop and certainly there is no time to browse, which is a shame because I am sure there are so many delicacies there to discover. Instead, we bought salad vegetables, peaches, grapes, bread, ham, cheese and olive oil before beginning to feel it was time to vacate the shop, make room for the next customer... we went back the same day for more of the same.

And since it was still unbearably hot we went back to Ganymede and passed the afternoon trying to keep in the shade, trying to get cool. We even went for a swim!

On Sunday morning when we went ashore we were met by the sounds of marching bands. We didn't know what the occasion was but there seemed to be three different youth bands marching down the street. Don't you love these bands? Often it is quite cacophanous as each band plays a different tune but all of them playing at the same time. Today was different, as they marched only one band could be heard at a time... although sometimes the others joined in, adding something to the music of the main players at that time. They met in the square, in front of the statue, violin at the ready... and together they played together, brass band music, well-orchestrated, a treat to the ear.

Mondello is renowned for its seafood restaurants and there is plenty of choice of eatery but for some reason we always seem to eat on board Ganymede when we are there. And so it was this time, perhaps because it was so hot we didn't feel much like eating, perhaps because we had eaten out so much when we were in Castellammare. Next time we really must plan it better.

Because, of course, there will be a next time.

Castellammare, Sicily

26th - 29th August

The countryside is lovely: mountains, cliffs and sea. Clinging onto the hillside and scrabbling down to the sea is the town of Castellammare. We stopped there last year when we needed a port during some very windy weather, enjoyed it then and were now very much looking forward to spending the next few days there.

Approaching from the sea the visitor's first impression is of concrete. Weather erosion has meant that part of the cliff on which the town stands has had to be massively reinforced. The silver-grey face it shows to the seafarer is stark still: hopefully the weather that made the work necessary will now work on the concrete, take the newness off, tone it down, maybe carry a few seeds in the wind, seeds that will fall into cracks and take root.

Now work is being carried out to extend the sea wall. As I said, we first went there in bad weather and so can appreciate why it is necessary to give more protection to the harbour. It is hoped that when the new wall is completed the harbour will provide a year-round haven for local boats and extend the season for pleasure craft.

So, although it means that the seafarer is deprived of the picturesque view of the town as it once was, the work means that the town is not going to fall down the hill and fishermen and yachtsmen alike can feel secure that they will be safe and comfortable in the harbour. And once inside the concrete is soon forgotten.

The harbour is a busy one. There are some floating pontoons for yachts and small days boats as well as a number of fishing boats at anchor. We think the plan is that once the sea wall is completed these boats will be able to tie up alongside the new quay. Maybe, too, the quay will provide a safer berth for boats like Ganymede, safe enough to consider a winter stay. With the constant work on the new wall and people and boats coming and going all day, this is definitely a place we like to be.

We were soon tied up, in exactly the same spot as last year, and no sooner was that done and Ganymede (and us!) made tidy than we were on our way to dinner. It was so good to be on dry land again and although I hadn't felt hungry for days, I was looking forward to the bowl of pasta I had promised myself. As I said in my last blog, I knew where we were going, had been thinking of little else for the last few hours. The restaurant is a short walk from the marina, along a dusty road, and I suddenly realised how warm it was. Phew!!! I don't think it had been this hot all summer. It had been hot when we left Almerimar, I admit, but not like this. Or else the week spent at sea, with a constant breeze, had caused me to forget the summer temperatures. This was HOT... and it was nearly eight o'clock in the evening.

We enjoyed a leisurely dinner, sitting on the terrace of the restaurant, looking at the small beach, the boats at anchor. The harbour area was busy, people were out for dinner, for an evening 'passeggiata', enjoying a drink before dinner... or after dinner. Children were running around, using up some energy before bedtime, playing on the beach, eating ice-creams. After our week of isolation we basked in the rhythm of Italian life. And then it was time to take the dusty road home... home to a full night's sleep, no watches to wake up for!

Next morning we headed into town. Last year it took us a week to get fit enough to climb the hill up to the main part of town and I don't remember it being so hot then. We took it slowly! A stroll down to the harbour, a stop for cappuccino (delicious!) and then it was time to face the walk up into town. As I said, the town clings onto the mountainside. The roads run down to the sea, so steep it seems they are perpendicular and climbing them is hard work. We pretend that we are stopping to admire the view. In reality we are catching our breath, taking a rest before once again heading upwards. Sometimes we take a side road, not because we need to go either left or right but because it provides us with a respite, more time to catch our breath. Eventually all our morning jobs are done, shopping, telephone, internet, and we can treat ourselves to another drink before heading back to Ganymede.
And so the days passed, spending time in town, eating in some of the restaurants, drinking cappuccino... and, of course, Ganymede needed a good clean after her hard work the previous week. We had bad news from Ron and Sheenagh though: their boat, Twelfth of Never, had engine trouble, they were stuck in Sardinia and didn't know if they could get it repaired. They were contemplating the possibility of having to abandon it there for the time being and postpone the shipment to Singapore...

We must be fitter than last year. Although the heat was intense, we didn't find the climb into town nearly as difficult. In fact, after the first day it seemed to be easy going. Except for the heat, that is, but the town is well planned, the narrow streets offered shade and often a cool breeze funnelled through the alleys.

We procrastinated, waiting for news from Ron and Sheenagh. Last year while we were here we had had our cockpit table sanded down and re-finished and I thought I would like to have a couple of coats put on of whatever product had been used before. The young man who did the work remembered us and was was happy to come to the marina and do the work. So we had an excuse for staying a bit longer... we had to wait for the stuff to dry. I still don't know what it was... some kind of wax.

And then Tony wouldn't allow us to put it off any longer, it was time to go, time to head towards our next destination. Mondello was calling.

Sea Passage

19th-26th August

I had thought I would be able to write this blog as we went along and in this way give a more accurate impression of what it is like to make a long sea passage, but it was not to be. We left the marina at the end of the afternoon, having first filled up with enough fuel for the journey, but no more than that since we would fill up again in Bizerte where fuel is very much cheaper. Once out to sea the conditions were good, the wind was behind us, pushing us along gently, and we relaxed for the first time that day.

We enjoyed a peaceful 24 hours: reading, dreaming, watching the sea, making the occasional sail change. The wind, what there was of it, was slowly moving round to the east, as predicted, and we would not be able to make a direct course to Bizerte but we had expected that. A direct route, with good wind, would have seen us in Bizerte in around four days but that wasn't going to happen. It didn't matter, we wanted to experience a longer passage anyway, that was the purpose in taking this route.

We always take three hour night watches when we are at sea. Tony would prefer four hours but I can't manage more than three: it is just so boring! Tony wanders around, makes himself tea and coffee, updates the chart, looks around. I just look around and, while I happily look around at nothing all day long, at night I just... get bored. The nights were clear, there was a full moon and a sky full to overflowing with stars... but I still got bored.

The first night we managed normal watches: one of us in the cockpit, the other in bed. After that things went wrong for a few nights. One night I slept in the cockpit because I was feeling seasick and couldn't face going below deck, other nights I slept in the saloon, bed seeming a long way away and not at all appealing and then, finally, at the end of the passage, I slept in the forward cabin... that was so comfortable! Tony usually chooses to sleep in the saloon, just in case he is needed in a hurry because his competent crew is... incompetent!

By the second morning the wind had finally moved round to the east, as predicted. I had already read one book and had given into the temptation to start another. The meals I had eaten were sitting heavily in the pit of my stomach, my head was throbbing and trying to read was the worst thing I could be doing. But I did it anyway. Tony had set a course northwards, away from the Algerian coast, and Ganymede was in rolling mode... not from side to side but up and down, up and down, up and down, forever, UP and DOWN, up and DOWN, UP and down... this was not good.

For four days we tacked up and down, first north towards the Balearics then south again towards Algeria. We made some progress, most days. The worst was a twelve hour period when we tacked first north then south, twelve hours of it... and we progressed seven miles! I had given up eating, the food just sat there in my stomach, taunting me. I sipped water, I even took a couple of seasick pills... and after book number two, I gave up trying to read. That helped! Tony was on his own when it came to meals.

After the seven miles in twelve hours debacle Tony insisted we head north. The day started badly and continued to get worse. The wind was slowly rising and the sea was decidedly rough. By evening the waves were breaking all around us and even on the horizon it was possible to see the spray made by huge waves. We were more than a little unhappy. Tony wanted to continue north, to head for Sardinia, where he was convinced that conditions would be better. I wasn't convinced, the sea around Sardinia always seems to be under threat of storms, winds, tempests, but Tony is in charge and I wasn't exactly being a very useful member of the crew. And then, as the sun was going down, the wind changed. We could no longer hold a reasonable course, so it was all change again, back towards Algeria. The wind had taken control of our course once again.

In fact, that was to be our last sail change. The wind slowly turned to the north west and we started to make good progress. All night and all day we sailed. We hadn't seen many boats since leaving Spain but now, as we followed the Algerian coast there seemed to be one cargo boat after another. And these were BIG boats. There was no slacking on watch with these around. I've lost track of time now but around day six we decided to try out the radar alarm. Now, this is our seventh season cruising with Ganymede and this was the first time we had considered the alarm might be useful. It took about half an hour of Tony fiddling around with the various controls before resorting to the instruction book... then we set the alarm to four miles, then three... and eventually we decided that one mile would be perfect. We didn't want that alarm sounding every few minutes! So... it worked. So... we switched it off again.

The sailing was good and I was feeling better but not better enough to be able to eat or to think of going down to the galley to prepare food. Fortunately, the instant stuff I had bought was holding out well and Tony wasn't starving. But I was beginning to think of the meal we would have in Bizerte when we were safely tied up in the marina.

Slowly we realised that sailing conditions were not just good... they were perfect. The wind had been steadily moving round all day and we were now sailing at 8.5 knots, racing along. Tony started muttering things like, 'of course, it is going to move to the east again'. Just what I wanted to hear! We were now in Tunisian waters, Bizerte was beckoning. And the thought came, if we just kept going we would be in Castellammare tomorrow night, one more night passage and it would be over. And conditions were perfect, couldn't be better. If we went into Bizerte we were sure to stay there several days... Ron and Sheenagh were in Sardinia: our phones had started working, picking up signal first from Algeria and then Tunisia and we had been able to exchange information. Conditions in Sardinia were, if anything, even worse. Time was moving on, we had a week to get to Calabria.

Five miles from Bizerte and the wind was still blowing us along at 8.5+ knots. Hmmm. We were tired. We didn't know the port. And I could always eat Spaghetti al Vongole in that lovely little restaurant by the harbour in Castellammare. AND it would be our last night at sea. No-brainer really. We continued on our way, heading out of Tunisian waters and to the open sea once more.

As usual, Tony took the first watch and when I went to bed we were still racing along. I was lying there, listening to the wind, thinking that perhaps we had too much sail up, when I heard the radar alarm... it was really quite persistent so I got up to investigate. Tony was at the wheel looking fraught. We were sailing along with only the tri-colour light at the top of the mast, signaling to other ships that we were going along on sail power only. A huge boat was passing on our port side, another on our starboard side and then, to make matters really difficult a simply HUGE cargo boat, one of those new monsters that seem to be about a mile long, was cutting across everyone's path. No wonder Tony was looking frantic. For the next hour we dodged boats on all sides. We had never on any other passage met so many boats passing so close together. Did the alarm help? Well, we switched it off so that may tell you something. What we did decide was that one mile was not enough notice of a nearby ship.

Of course, the wind died and for the first time in days we decided to use the engine. After the panic life returned to the usual quiet night passage. Had we made a mistake not stopping in Bizerte? Well, if we had, it was too late now. But by mid-morning next day the wind was with us again, not exactly in the best direction, but helping us along. And then the engine was off, we were sailing comfortably along, that wonderful sensation when the noise of the engine ceases and all that can be heard is the sound of the wind in the sails and the movement of Ganymede as she moves steadily through the waves, a comfortable movement, not in the least sick-making. I was beginning to feel better, not enough to read, or get out the computer, or even so some of the knitting I had planned to do (I need the instructions... which were in the computer!) and certainly not enough to eat but I could go below, I even managed to prepare some food for Tony. The thought of the vongole was keeping me going.

Ron and Sheenagh were still in Sardinia. Tony texted our position as we neared Capo San Vito on the north western coast of Sicily. We were nearly there. Soon we would see the town of Castellammare, the city walls, the new sea wall, not yet finished. The passage had taken seven days. On that last day of an easterly wind Tony had said we were never making a long passage again, we were going to Greece and we were staying there. As the wind changed in our favour and the sailing became easier he thought that after we had seen Ron and Sheenagh's boat on to the container ship we would go to Siracusa and then make passage to Croatia, there was time before the end of the season. As conditions got better still and we were more and more comfortable he thought that it was a pity we couldn't make the Atlantic crossing...

Leaving Almerimar

15th-19th August

We had thoroughly enjoyed our walk round the gardens of the Alhambra. Possibly we had chosen the best time of year: trees and flowers were in full bloom and the water gardens provided a sense of coolness: shaded by the trees, they offered a respite from the blaze of the sun, the sound of running water soothing the senses and reducing the effect of the heat. Certainly, there were lots of people around but never so many that they detracted from the sense of peace that the gardens created.

But we couldn't wait around until seven o'clock, our designated time for the palaces, so finally we agreed, it was time to go. Of course, by then it was too late to go back into the city, to take the opportunity to visit the Arab Quarter, or maybe the Jewish Quarter. It was time to head back to Almerimar. Our main objective in visiting Granada had been the Alhambra and the gardens especially. We had done that. We should have allowed more time... or bought tickets in advance, which we could easily have done had we only known the difficulty of buying them on the day. Maybe we will go back one day...

The drive back took us along the Malaga motorway as far as Motril where we made a left turn and headed back to Almerimar. A new motorway is under construction around the mountains and along the coast. We had thoroughly enjoyed the motorway from Almería to Granada. This new motorway, when it is eventually completed, is going to be spectacular. High viaducts that span deep valleys, mountain stretches that sit on the very edge of the land making one giddy just looking out of the car window to the sea far below. It is breathtaking.

Back in Almerimar, the new alternator had arrived. With luck, we could leave tomorrow. I am always optimistic. It was good to be back, good to get back to Ganymede, good to be 'home'. I planned the shopping, what Tony might like to eat when I couldn't even think of cooking: easy food, convenience food.

Nothing ever goes to plan! Next morning Tony started work on the alternator while I made a couple of trips to Mercadona... after coffee and tostadas, of course. I was unpacking some shopping when Tony broke the news: the drive belts he had, that he thought were the correct size, weren't... so off he went to the chandlery while I made another trip to Mercadona. I was still optimistic: we would leave either today or tomorrow morning. Wrong again! The chandlery didn't stock the belts we needed, it was a holiday weekend, Monday or Tuesday was the earliest we could expect to get them. Hmmm! I so wanted to leave, so wanted to be on our way to the next destination.

At the same time... I was beginning to like Almerimar, beginning to think that maybe I would like to spend the winter here... those mountains really are special, we liked the people we had met and it seemed like a good place to have any necessary work done on Ganymede. I had started with expectations of Almerimar that were wrong, that weren't what Almerimar is about... now I had put down some shallow roots. They were easy to pull up but they could just as easily have taken hold, have provided a pleasant base. Split personality, that's what I have!

We finally left late Tuesday afternoon. It was a close thing: the new belts were a very tight fit and right up until the last minute I thought we wouldn't be leaving, we would have to wait for another set of fan belts but suddenly they were on, the alternator was working as it should, we could go...

Granada

13th-14th August

We left around nine o'clock and drove out of Almerimar to El Ejido and on to the motorway. The usual poly-tunnels and bleak countryside until we got to Almería, round the town and then a left turn onto the motorway that leads to Granada. Up through the mountains we went.

Tony and I enjoy long drives and long drives through mountains are the best. The scenery... I was reminded of spaghetti westerns. Weren't a lot of them shot here? There was always something new to look at: rocks tortured into the most unimaginable shapes, barren slopes and valleys with only an occasional tree or cactus to break the emptiness and very occasionally, a lone house. Yes, I could definitely imagine a lonely cowboy making his way slowly along these canyons, winding up the hills.

Later, I was reminded of our visit to Matmata in Tunisia, to the troglodyte houses, the Star Wars bar, because here the landscape was equally out of this world and here, also, were troglodyte houses. We had seen troglodyte houses in this part of Spain before, when we were driving to Seville. Those first houses had been very lavish with extensive facades to them, all white pillars and arches, the gardens green and verdant, some even with swimming pools. But here the house fronts blended perfectly with the background so that it was easy to miss them. There were no well-watered lawns and as for swimming pools, not a chance!

And then we were back into lonely mountains, now climbing higher and higher, the last stretch of the drive. Here the mountainsides were lush, covered in trees. But we had a problem. The road was steep, the climb long, and our rental car was having serious difficulties making it to the top. Tony was down to second gear and it was a struggle. It was only a two lane road and we were seriously holding up the traffic. Huge lorries, cars pulling caravans, we were being overtaken at every opportunity. This was definitely not a highlight of the drive. We held our breaths, crossed our fingers... and we were had arrived, slowly descending to Granada (although still high in the mountains - Granada is built on a huge plateau high up in the Sierra Nevada.

I had spent hours the previous evening checking hotel reservation sites, looking for the best bargain, the most suitable hotel. In the end I decided it would be better to be out of town and take a bus into the centre. Reading the 'visitor reports' it seemed that the roads in the old town of Granada were as tortuous as some of the rocks we had passed. So I finally decided on a modern hotel with WiFi access 'in every part of the hotel'. It turned out to be an okay hotel, slightly reminiscent of the pictures on the web, and in a residential part of town. But our room had no WiFi available... The staff obviously thought we were crazy (or difficult customers!) but agreed to move us to a room that did have WiFi. Then we discovered that the hotel had no tourist information leaflets... can you imagine, a hotel in a town like Granada that probably survives on tourism... and no brochures! We even had to ask for a town map, they were hidden away at the reception desk. And when we asked about the Alhambra, well, you would have thought we were asking about a visit to the moon. However, we were given excellent information about where to catch a bus into town. It wasn't the best part of town to visit, but it was 'town'.

It was pretty much like any other large Spanish town: a wide boulevard lined by large buildings and a variety of shop windows to look into. We were hungry, it was already two o'clock and we chose the first likely-looking eatery we came to. The food was acceptable, nothing more, but at least the interior was cool. August isn't the best month for sightseeing, especially if, like me, you don't function well when the temperature soars.

We continued on our way, branching off down narrow alleys, all the shops closed now, siesta time was well underway. By chance we came upon the cathedral. It was closed, of course, every door shut, but we walked round it. It was HUGE. An enormous stone edifice, I don't think I have seen a bigger cathedral. Perhaps its size was enhanced by the other buildings, this part of town having seemingly grown around it. Of course, we found a square with restaurants and bars and of course we sat down to enjoy a glass of wine (perhaps not the best choice considering the temperature) and to take time to study the map and decide what we should try to see while we were here. We thought the old Arab Quarter would be the most interesting and so set off in that direction. As we passed the cathedral we noticed that it was now open so in we went. It was strange, considering the external size, this interior, although significant, was much too small... and then the penny dropped. We weren't in the cathedral, we were in a private chapel off the cathedral. So once outside we found the 'real' cathedral, paid the entrance fee (no queues here) and in we went. Apparently the design of the cathedral was based on St Peter's in Rome. It was large, it was cool and it was peaceful. We sat and absorbed the quiet atmosphere.

After the cathedral we didn't do much. It was hot, we abandoned the uphill walk to the Arab Quarter long and in the end we saw a bus stop... and stopped... and waited... and waited... and eventually a bus came along and in no time we were back in the hotel, back in the cool of the air-conditioned room. I looked up details of the Alhambra on the internet and was dismayed to discover that even if we bought tickets online we could expect long queues to get in. So, being me, I decided to put off making a decision, if we had to queue anyway then we may as well buy the tickets when we got there. Bad decision!

Next morning we had booked out of the hotel and were at the Alhambra shortly after ten. It was hot. There were queues, it seemed, a mile long. But there were no notices, nothing to tell you where to go, which queue to get into. We wandered around, looking at the queues, thinking, 'this is madness'. wondering how to get in to the public bit, the bit where you didn't need a ticket. We made no progress and I think, now, that there was a kiosk where you could get a ticket for the gardens only... but you had to join the general queue to get to it. Hmmm. Oh well, we were here, this is what we had come to Granada to see, so we joined a queue that was for the automatic ticket machines, the same ticket machines that was for the use of those people who had bought online, but they had priority. Does this make sense?

We had been standing in the queue, in full sun, for about ten minutes when there was an announcement. Tickets for the morning visit were sold out and there were only 650 tickets left for the afternoon session. We looked at the queues. Well, there didn't seem to be 650 people waiting, maybe 250, maybe less, so we stayed. The queue didn't move particularly fast. In fact, it didn't seem to move at all. After about half an hour there was another announcement.550 tickets left... then 500 tickets... 400 tickets... The queue just didn't seem to be moving enough for that many tickets to have been sold. I was getting a bit irate and assumed that while we were standing there, in the blazing sun, ticket were still being sold on the internet. Certainly, there were a lot of people going to the front of the queue to collect their pre-ordered tickets.

We were finally out of the sun but now there were only 250 tickets left for that afternoon. Obviously there were a lot of people in the queue who would not be getting tickets that day but no effort was being made by the staff to suggest where the end of the successful queue would be. We now realised that we would be borderline and wondered if it was worth waiting. By now I was furious. How dare these people treat visitors like this. If they didn't want to sell tickets on site then surely they should simply stop doing so, not hedge there bets and let people come just in case they had a slow day... Now there were 100 tickets left. It was definitely going to be a close thing but we decided to wait... after all, we had already queued for well over two hours. 50 tickets to go... I made another head count... 25 people ahead of us. But how many in the other queue? And would it move faster than ours? 4 people ahead of us... 2 people... now we were through but there wasn't a machine available... now at a machine, Visa card in... and then nothing. It spit the card out. Tony tried again. Same thing, back comes the card. I saw an attendant, the only one there. Grabbed her... we want a ticket, how does it work. Well, it seems that before you put your card in you have to touch the screen... it was a race to the end... she did it all for us... and we got the last two tickets! Phew... but such a disappointment for the Italian couple who were behind us in the queue... they got to a machine but like us couldn't make it work, not knowing the magic of touch. Others, more knowledgeable, got their tickets.

The next thing we discovered was that your ticket gives you a time when it is possible to visit the most important palaces, there is no choice. Our time slot was at seven o'clock... we would be on our way home by then! Well, it was the gardens I most wanted to see so I could live with that. But nevertheless, it seemed just another indication of the attitude of the management there...'We are one of the most famous, most visited sites in Spain. If you want to visit you will stick by our rules and we really don't care for your comfort.' I was going to write and complain. I was going to write to UNESCO and complain - this is no way to treat people and I felt strongly that UNESCO should re-consider their protection of the site - but of course I did nothing, except let you all know in this blog. And the solution was so simple: to man all available kiosks during the busiest periods (they had two open) and to install a host of automatic machines to add to the six that were already there, for which there was more than ample space.

The gardens are STUNNING. I am not a lover of Islamic or Italian style formal gardens, preferring a riot of colour to the elegance of greenery and manicured beds. Here there was such an intermingling of both it was a joy to experience. Elegant avenues of trees, olive trees, oleander in full bloom, the brilliant, deep cerise of bougainvillaea, water gardens, rose gardens, and everywhere, summer annuals, all in flower. The shade from the trees and the coolness of the water diminished the effect of the hot summer sun. In places an avenue or flight of steps would be edged by a small canal of running, cold water, perfect to trail a hand in, enjoy a moment's freshness. Drinking water fountains were everywhere and most people took advantage of them, filling water bottles for later use. From some of the walkways there were views over the gardens to the palaces of the Alhambra and then in the distance, the Arab Quarter of the city. On the other side the view was of the Sierra Nevada. Magnificent.

Yes, okay, I admit it, it was worth the wait.

Almerimar: Part 2

4th-13th August

We were on our own again, Charlie and Hannah had gone. Time to turn Ganymede into a two-person boat again, get the laundry done, put away the extra sheets and towels. My washing machine is generally very good but there is a problem with the drum which needs balancing. The machine fits so snugly into its designated spot that we are not sure if we can get it out. Obviously we can... but not without a very great deal of effort. As a result I organise laundry loads carefully, never more than one bath towel at a time and always with a full load so getting all those large towels washed took a while.

Ron and Sheenagh were back and we enjoyed several meals together. Ron's work plans had changed and he wouldn't be able to oversee the loading of their yacht onto a cargo boat in southern Italy, at the top of th Messina Straits. (They are moving back to Singapore, shipping the boat there.) Would Tony supervise for him? We weren't planning to head that way although Tony's preferred winter home would be Corfu or Lefkas in the Ionian...

... and I didn't think I wanted to spend the winter in Almerimar. I still thought that Morocco and then Gran Canaria would be a good solution but Tony wasn't keen. Hmmm...

... we like Sicily a lot, it's one of our favourite places...

Okay, we would do it! So Corfu for the winter it is.

Over the next couple of weeks we settled into Almerimar, settled into the routine, found our favourite bars... and yes, the English bar we visited on the first day was one of them. There was another, just a bit further along the street, that made the best coffee and tostadas. I am afraid I got into the tostada for breakfast habit, never missed a day! Tony helped Ron on his boat... probably passed a few spanners... and Sheenagh and I caught up with lots of chatting. No longer did I look out and see a mass of polythene. Now I saw the mountains. Beautiful mountains, majestic, spectacular. I was beginning to like Almerimar. Now that we weren't staying!!!

The alternator was proving problematic. First they had to order spare parts, then they couldn't get them, it being August. Time was moving on. Finally, we decided to get a new one. Ouch!!! We just happened to have one of the most expensive brands of alternator you can buy and Tony didn't want to replace it with a different, cheaper make. Ron and Sheenagh were almost ready to leave. The new alternator wouldn't arrive for several days... we decided to make a trip to Granada.

So that's what we did. We could have taken a coach trip from Almerimar but we decided to rent a car, stay overnight, and also visit Corboda if time permitted.

Almerimar: First Impressions

Part 1: 29th July - 3rd August

I was so looking forward to Almerimar, sure we would like it, sure that this would become our home for the winter.

First we had to tie up on the waiting quay, go to the office and make all the necessary paperwork before moving once again to our assigned berth. Bit of a nuisance that, twice the work. Usually we go straight to the assigned berth and then to the office for the paperwork.

Charlie decided to take Ganymede into the berth. I held my breath. I bit my tongue. I was very, very nervous. And surprised. He had never offered before. All was going well, turning and straightening up before reversing into the space was a bit tight but he got there. And then lost it slightly and was heading right on to the mooring line of the next boat. Panic on my part, of course!, but Charlie kept his cool, got it right and then reversed perfectly into the slot. We were there. We weren't moving for at least a week.

It was time for coffee. It had been a long night.

Almerimar is an artificial town, built around a marina and solely for the tourist industry. There are many like it, some work well, others don't. The buildings are the standard 'Spanish-style' low apartment blocks, most of those on the front having shop or restaurant units on the ground floor. Yachts are tied up to the quays, all very pretty. Our berth wasn't on one of the town quays. Instead, we had a less public, quieter berth on a more secure pontoon. Well, it had a gate and we had a key... but the gate was never locked so I'm not sure about the security.

So, coffee. We stopped at the first bar and ordered. Did we want small cups or mugs? Uhhh? Well, mugs... (café con leche? mugs?). The coffee was good, we slowly unwound and then we realised: this was an English bar, the owners were English, the customers were English. We continued on our way, past a Tabac, more bars and restaurants, a large square with... bars and restaurants. But it was all very quiet, there were very few people around, and this was the main tourist season. We stopped for a tapas lunch, walked around some more and then headed back to Ganymede.

We went to the beach later, retracing our steps of the morning and then continuing along, past more restaurants, some chandleries, closed shops, empty units, on through a small park... and there were all the people: on the beach, sunning themselves, in the sea, cooling down. Rather incongruously, there was a large group of Spanish women, playing Bingo!

In the evening, when it was cooler, we searched out the supermarket, Mercadona, my favourite. On the way there we passed a large apartment block, quite attractive, but totally empty. Perhaps it had just been completed? Anyway, Mercadona was close, that was good.

And so our days passed in getting to know our way around, enjoying being in marina-mode, and getting things fixed. Charlie and Hannah managed daily trips to the beach, we tended not to bother. One major problem was that we had an alternator that needed to be either fixed or replaced. We easily found an English shop where we could get that done. The alternator was delivered to them, they took it to Almería, and we waited. We also found a workshop specialising in stainless steel work. I had bent a rail way back in May so we decided to take the opportunity of getting it fixed. The man in the workshop was English, of course. Well, in fact, not English, listening to the man's accent. South African? And then, 'I'm Zimbabwean' he suddenly volunteered. I knew I recognised that accent! 'We have a friend with a boat here who is from Zimbabwe' I said, maybe you know her... Sheenagh. Of course, he knew Sheenagh. (I reckon all expatriate Zimbabweans know each other!) In fact, he told us, Ron, her husband was here in Almerimar at the moment, getting the boat ready to leave. I thought we'd missed them! We had planned to meet but then they arrived early and we dallied, waiting for Charlie.

We immediately went round to their berth... at the far side of the marina, near the office... I called, 'Ron, Ron' and out came... Sheenagh. What a lovely surprise. She was there with the boys, getting ready to leave that very day. But there is always time for a coffee and a catch-up chat. And Sheenagh would be back with Ron in a few days time. Fantastic!

Charlie and Hannah had only a few days left. I was feeling depressed, not just because they were going but because... I really did not like Almerimar. It seemed so sad. Here we were in the middle of the tourist season and it was empty. A very few bars seemed to be doing well but Mercadona was always busy, especially the fish counter, a Mercadona speciality I reckon.

Anyway, we had to rent a car for the trip to the airport so we collected it the evening before and took the opportunity to have a drive around, see something of the surrounding countryside. Did I say I was a bit depressed? This was dreadful. Bleak. Acre after acre of poly-tunnels. A sea of plastic. And this, apparently, is where most of the vegetables for the EU are grown, especially the salads. It was like a wilderness. Where there was no plastic there seemed to be only dry soil and a few sad-looking weeds. We drove through the nearest town. Well, I have to admit that when it comes to town planning Spain doesn't really seem to have got it together. The town seemed to be houses and apartment blocks... and cars. There was occasionally a child on a bike, some people on the street, but no town square, no bars, no shops... we obviously managed to miss everything on our drive around.

We headed out to the country, into the heart of poly-tunnel land. I couldn't spend the winter here, I just couldn't. Eventually we found another town that seemed to be more alive, have more going for it but again we couldn't find a bar where we would like to sit and have a drink. It didn't help, of course, that by now it was quite late and all the shops we found were closed. Back in the car, we decided to go to Almería so back into the plastic and then to the motorway from where it was a short drive to Almería. This was better. Almería has oviously been there for a very long time. It has a lovely town centre with streets that wind there way hither and thither but by now it was getting late and we only had time for a short walk, a stop in a tapas bar and it was time to head back to Almerimar.

Next morning saw us up and away quite early. We didn't know what the route would be like. Part of it was motorway but there was a long stretch of coast road, in and out of small seaside towns and we had no idea what the conditions would be like. In fact, it was an easy drive. The road was spectacular in places, even before we got out of the plastic and there was even time to stop for morning coffee and tostadas. Yumm! We made Malaga airport in good time which was just as well as the queue for the flights was almost out the door. Eventually, after almost an hour of queuing Charlie and Hannah were checked in and it was time to part. Off they went into the departure lounge.

And us... well, we headed on back to Almerimar. Of course, we stopped en route for a good lunch... once we found a parking space that is.

South once again

26th-29th June

So here we were again, heading south, aiming to be in Almerimar in time to give Charlie and Hannah a few days in port before flying home.

From Moraira we retraced our path to Puerto San Juán (Alicante) where we once again dropped anchor and prepared to pass the night. We took Charlie and Hannah ashore and showed them the 'sights' of San Juán, such as they are. I don't think they were impressed!

Did I tell you that there is a modern church in the town that has to be one of the ugliest churches we have ever seen? A mixture of concrete, glass and a metal gantry that reminds one of Meccano. The final detail was some pretty gory stained glass. It wouldn't have looked so bad if it was well-kept but the windows are high and so almost impossible to keep clean in the salty atmosphere and the same applied to the Meccano structure which needed, as a minimum a fresh coat of paint. The gate to the church was open as we passed by and we decided to look inside. Here, all was fresh a clean and light was pouring in from the windows. Not so bad really.

After dinner on board Charlie and Hannah went ashore for a walk along the beach. Then it was time for bed and an early(ish) start the next morning. Our next planned destination was Torrevieja but we were making such good time on a perfect wind that we decided we could detour to the island of Tabarca. It was Sunday so the anchorages were both very busy but we easily found a spot and were soon headed ashore for an explore and a sandwich lunch. The town was busy, throbbing with tourists visiting from nearby Torrevieja and Santo Palo, out to enjoy the simple delights on offer.

From there to Torrevieja and a berth in the Club Nautica. It is so nice to be able to wander ashore at will and we all took advantage of the freedom it offered. Charlie and Hannah visited the fair, as we had anticipated they would. We oldies settled for a walk and a coffee. Then next morning the two youngsters took advantage of the 'new' shops there were to look at in the town while Tony and I stocked up with provisions. Then it was time to leave, Cartagena was beckoning. By now it was lunchtime.

Somehow, the coastline seemed less crammed with huge apartment blocks. Obviously the initial shock was over and I was able to take in the stretches of countryside that lay between the major conurbations. Even La Manga didn't seem so overbuilt.

It was a good afternoon's sail and we were approaching Cartagena around four o'clock. It seemed such a pity to detour and stop for the night... so we didn't! Of course, once the decision was made the wind dropped and we wallowed along the coast for a couple of hours before admitting defeat, turning on the engine and bringing in the sails.

What a difference it makes having just one more person to take a watch. It hardly seems a chore to stay awake for one stretch of three hours, instead of having to do two watches. This was sheer luxury. Charlie, please come back and live with us...

By late morning we were heading into the marina at Almerimar. On the shore the land was covered in poly-tunnels, not the most attractive of views. But our main interest was in getting into the marina, getting settled and preparing to spend a few days exploring and relaxing before it was time to take Charlie and Hannah to Malaga to fly home.

Moraira again

14th-26th July: Part 2

Charlie's girlfriend, Hannah, her mum, Clair, and brother, Max, arrived in Javea the next day. Javea is a short distance up the coast from Moraira and we decided we would go there for a couple of days at least. I phoned the marina but at the time there were no places, of course, but we could try later. We upped anchor and headed off to Javea anyway. If we couldn't get into the marina we could always sit at anchor, as usual.

The anchorage in Javea didn't inspire us. Mooring buoys had been laid but there was no indication what size boats they were designed for or even whether they were available to all and sundry. In any case, there were none free so we found our spot, dropped our anchor and looked about. There was absolutely no way to go ashore with the dinghy. Charlie needed to get ashore in order to join Hannah and her family in their villa. Off they went, Tony and Charlie in the dinghy, determined to find a way to the beach. Eventually Tony came back, not too happy. They had made their way along the shore until they came to an open space that was available for jet skis to get in and out from the beach. Fine, that would suit a little dinghy. But no, as soon as they started to head for the beach they were shouted at... 'you can't come here!!!' Well, Tony was having none of it. He was tired of always giving way, always being polite. So, "I am coming ashore for two minutes, like it or not.' And he did.

I telephoned to the marina once again. They had a place! Eureka! Off we went. It was one of the nicest, friendliest Club Nauticos that we have visited. A bit of a walk to the town it nevertheless had most things we would want including a swimming pool that we never got round to trying. Typical us, don't you think! There was also a very popular restaurant where we enjoyed morning coffee and tostadas and wished we could have had time for lunch or dinner. We were told we could stay one night, managed to extend to two, but that was it.

Back in May we visited the town of Soller on Mallorca on the day they celebrated their annual fiesta, the battle between Moors and Christians. It was a fabulous day, everyone happy and it seemed such a fun occasion, a day for the local population, not for tourists, not orchestrated in the least. There were firecrackers being let off every few seconds it seemed and men with shotguns gaily letting off blank cartridges, often pinching the girls' straw hats and shooting a hole in the crown.

It was Moors and Christians week in Javea. And it was well and truly orchestrated. We arrived in time for the last two days. The major battles had been fought and won. On Sunday the Christians took over the 'castle' that had been set up by the port. The costumes that the principal characters wore were sumptuous, truly gorgeous. Incidentally, the main protagonists were older couples, not young dolly birds! The noise was horrendous. It was my misfortune to visit the supermarket as one of the final battles was being fought outside. Even inside the supermarket the noise of the firecrackers, the blank cartridges and the daytime fireworks was ear-splitting. Heading back to the marina I had to pass the main battle and then found the road was closed ahead of me, even for pedestrians. The battle had started in earnest. Fireworks were shooting into the sky above me and then falling uncomfortably close. The noise was deafening. I kept thinking, health and safety would never allow this. And was happy that the Spanish could ignoring such silly precautions. But still, I searched out a safe way home, through the back streets.

We had dinner with Hannah and her family and then next evening a barbecue at their villa. Back on board Ganymede that night we were comfortably settled when the expected fireworks started up. Now, you would think we had had enough of fireworks by now. But no. This time the main body of the spectacle was opposite our pontoon. It was stupendous. How they manage to think up so many different, new types of firework I cannot imagine. This display was mostly on the water, can you believe. Stunning. Come to Spain for your summer holiday if firework displays are your thing!!! Or battles between Moors and Christians!

But our two nights in the marina were soon over and since the anchorage was so awful and access to the town impossible we decided to head back to Moraira, quiet now after their week of fiesta. It was back to our old spot in the anchorage, back to asking in the marina office each day if it was okay for us to leave the dinghy... same old thing.

Charlie, Hannah and her family visited us and we did the unheard of: we went out for a sail. Not to go anywhere, just for the pleasure. We hadn't done that for a long while, if ever. We also visited the weekly street market but that was about it, other than the usual coffee, WiFi and supermarket.

On Friday, our last day, we had been out all morning and were heading back to Ganymede after a long lunch. As we got out of the marina I looked at Ganymede and said, 'Something's wrong. She's sinking!' Although in the town there was hardly a breath of wind and in the marina itself there was flat calm, a huge swell had got into the bay and we could barely see Ganymede over the 1-2m waves that were rolling in. Certainly, it was impossible to get on board, it would have been too dangerous. We headed back to the marina.

There was no way I was going to spend a night on board at anchor in those conditions so it was back to the marina office to see if we could get a place for the night. Not a chance was the first answer. Now, as it happens, there is a CCTV camera that can look out into the anchorage. 'Look!' I said, 'See what it is like. We can't stay there.' The woman in charge looked, was appalled and got on the radio... we had to be found a place. Eventually it was decided we could go on the waiting quay but we would have to wait for the sea to calm down before we could even think of moving. I was even considering abandoning her to her fate and finding a hotel for the night. By the time we were able to get back out to Ganymede, another, much smaller boat, had taken up residence on the waiting quay. Bother!!! Eventually a berth was found and we were safely tied up - but we had to leave by 9.00 am next day. Bliss - I love being at anchor, but the joy of being able to walk off the boat and into town is also not to be missed.

Next morning Charlie and Hannah joined us and we set sail, heading south yet again.

Moraira Again

12th - 14th July

We knew that the wind wasn't favourable for a sail up the coast and we left the harbour at Torrevieja intending to make a long tack out to sea. Our first concern was the myriad of small boats that were at anchor, mostly fishing. We had to plot a careful course through them, so no sailing until we were clear of them.

Next, I had a brainwave... Why don't we go to Ibiza? 'Don't be silly,' said Tony,' we are going in totally the wrong direction'... and then the wind changed and we were going in the right direction. By this time Tony had had time to think about it and, you know, Ibiza didn't seem such a bad idea. And that's what we did. For maybe an hour we sat in the cockpit, enjoyed the sail and headed for Ibiza, crossing our fingers that some time before Friday the wind would be favourable to sail back to Moraira. But it wasn't to last. Tony went down below - why do these things always happen when Tony is 'Down Below'? - and the wind changed. Not a gentle little wind change, that would have been too easy. The wind changed by 60 degrees... causing the sails to flap and generally cause minor chaos... and took us in the direction of Moraira. 'Can't we just go to Ibiza anyway?' 'No,' said Tony, 'it is not practical to continue on to Ibiza. Not now!' So that was that. We headed for Moraira.

It was a good sail, a good long tack heading up the Costa Blanca. We had no real plan as to how far we would go that day, everything depended on the wind. Soon we could see Tabarca Island but as we got closer we could also see that the anchorages both sides were very full. Also, the gentle sail we started with had turned into a not so comfortable sail. We decided to stop at Porto Santo Palo, just opposite the island, but once there it was obvious why no-one else chose to anchor there: it offered no shelter, there was no way to get ashore (nothing new there!) and it was very choppy. We had a quick lunch and set off on our way again having decided to stop once again at Puerto de San Juán, provided there wasn't too much of a swell.

But you know, it was no longer a good sail. It was a very hard sail with a choppy sea and an increasing wind. We would have reefed the sails but we were so near to Puerto de San Juán it seemed hardly worth it so we battled our way through the waves making good speed but certainly not relaxing. Around us most other boats were taking in their sails or struggling to make way. It is a strange thing we have noticed. When a boat is over-rigged, that is, it has too much sail for the conditions, it usually goes slower than if the sails were just reefed in a bit. With our anchorage in site though, we decided to leave things as they were and hope that when we got there it would be possible to anchor. We could see boats there, plenty of them, so it couldn't be too bad, and amazingly, it wasn't. As we came into the shelter of the headland the wind and the waves died and we were soon at anchor, getting ready to go ashore, enjoy a glass of wine, and get some WiFi.

We stayed there two nights. The first night there was a fiesta at the Club Nautica. We saw the tables being prepared on the quayside as we sat and sipped our wine. And then, just after midnight, we awoke to the sound of disco music. They was having a great time and continued to have a great time until three o'clock in the morning. It would have been fun to have joined them...

We slept late the next morning and then coffee ashore and more WiFi. I was sitting looking out towards Ganymede when I said to Tony, 'There's a Guardia Civil boat near Ganymede. I think they are looking for us.' 'Why would the be looking for us?' Why does it always happen this way? 'Tony, they really are looking for us. Look!' Another of those mad rushes, pay the bill, collect the laptops, get back to the dinghy and out to Ganymede, where they are still hanging around, looking... And yes, they did want us. They wanted to see our papers but they were very pleasant, very polite about it. I think what happened was that we should have taken our papers to the port police in Torrevieja but we had misunderstood and thought we were to take them next time... so the Guardia Civil at Alicante were on the lookout for us. Well, that is my theory anyway.

That night a heavy swell came into the anchorage. Another night of being thrown around, of waves crashing on the hull, or the hull crashing on waves. We left early next morning. Are you surprised? It wasn't a pleasant sail. We were on full main and reefed genoa and the sea was not nice. I had felt unwell before we left but by the time we got to Moraira I could think of nothing else but getting into the marina and tied up to a pontoon. And then disaster. We couldn't get into the marina, it was full! So we made our way, once again, into the anchorage and found a suitable spot to drop the anchor.

And there we stayed.

Back to Torrevieja

4th-11th July

We were busy in Cartagena. Ganymede was is need of a good wash and we spent a day cleaning the decks and the blue topsides. She was gleaming at the end of it. Of course, it doesn't last... I am always surprised how dirty and dusty boat living can be. Even, or especially, on a long sea passage Ganymede gets very dusty inside and there is always the salt water that splashes on the decks and the windows and then dries, leaving a residue of salt behind. But for a few days in Cartagena, Ganymede was clean.

It wasn't all work, of course, and we had made several sorties into the town, enjoyed several dinners out and made a big supermarket shop, Carrefour being nearby and taxis easy to find. There was even a Bargain Books in town. Very welcome!

But we had to leave, start making our way slowly back to Moraira to await Charlie's arrival. No submarines surprised us on the way out but the wind wasn't being good to us. As usual, it was on the nose. We had plenty of time so we decided to make a long tack out to sea and then, joy of joys, the wind slowly changed, came round to suit our direction and we had a perfect sail all the way to Torrevieja, arriving in the harbour just before sunset.

Our plan was to stay one or two nights there but it didn't quite work out like that. A cooling fan for the engine had given up and we needed to replace it. At the chandlery they confirmed they could order one for us and it would take maybe a couple of days. This was on Monday, so no problem, we could easily stay until Wednesday. Which we did, exploring new parts of the town each day. We walked along the esplanade one evening: busy with people walking, sitting at pavements cafés eating and drinking, people on the beach still. There was a lady standing looking out to sea, another of those bronze statues. One strange thing we noticed was the number of policemen on the beat. The town seemed quiet and peaceful and there was no apparent need for quite such a display of strength. Tony thought that maybe they have a problem with pickpockets.

By Wednesday we had covered much of the town, found another source of cut-price books, and established a few regular coffee stops and lunch stops. The fan still hadn't arrived. On Thursday we visited the salt museum and bumped into Henry Macaulay. Henry is from Dunoon on the west coast of Scotland but has lived in the Torrevieja area for the last twelve years. His passions are the museum, naval history and making scale models of famous navy ships. He proudly showed us round the museum pointing out special models and items of particular interest. We discovered that the town employs someone to make models of buildings, the salt works, boats, anything of historical interest. A new museum is being made ready but work had to stop when archeological remains were found. That was three years ago. Henry thought the new museum might now be ready by the end of the year.

The fan didn't arrive on Thursday either but we were assured that it would be there Friday afternoon. Our next expedition was to try to find the little train that would take us to the lagoon and the salt works. We found the railway museum... but that was all. However, that took us to the edge of town and we realised how we missed being in a more rural environment. We would have walked to the lagoon but it really was very hot. And perhaps the flamingoes that we were promised to see would have been as elusive as the little train. So we had lunch instead. Italian. Delicious.

The fan arrived on Friday. We had collected it and were planning our departure for the following morning when the port police arrived in a large inflatable. Did we know we were not allowed to anchor here? Well no, we didn't. I would add that every day a flotilla of small boats came out of the various marinas and spent the day at anchor so I suppose what they meant was that we were not allowed to anchor OVERNIGHT. We should pay to go into a marina for that. Oh well, we had a good run. If only that fan had arrived a day earlier we would still be able to anchor in the bay!

We explained that we were leaving the next day, we had been waiting for a part to arrive and it had arrived now so off they went, leaving us to anchor overnight one more time.