Cala San Vicente, Ibiza

4th June.

I'm stuck again, don't know how to start this blog. If you have read the previous blogs you will know that we made a good crossing from Mallorca to Ibiza, mostly motoring but with the sails up, helping us along.

So, our first anchorage in Ibiza... Cala San Vicente on the north east coast is a small cala nicely tucked away behind the headland so that it has good shelter. There is a wide beach, a couple of hotels, some holiday apartments, a few restaurants and shops. There are also some fishermen's huts and a tiny jetty where we could tie up the dinghy. Our first impression was that it would be a good holiday destination for those looking for a quiet beach holiday, soaking up the sun, relaxing and eating well in the evenings. Exploring further we found a board showing the various mountain bike routes on the island; there seemed to be a lot of black routes, so not for the fainthearted. I also noticed a hiking route, not too difficult... but there was no indication of where it started! I would have to look for a map, or maybe even a book. I couldn't find either but I did buy a magazine called 'Ibiza Now' that gave lots of information on Ibiza including various special activities such as a photography course (we would have left Ibiza before it happened unfortunately), special days out on a luxury yacht (I think we could forget that one!), news of all the clubs (not for us, but maybe Alistair and Gill when they are here) and there was even a hike, maybe we could go on that. We didn't in the end.

We thought this would be a good spot to bring the family: The beach seemed perfect for Eva and there was a little play park as well. A volley ball court and boules court might provide entertainment for the adults and there was enough choice of cafés to keep us happy for days. Who knows, maybe we would even find that walk.

Santa Ponça

3rd June

We motored round to Santa Ponça. There was wind, we could have sailed but as the wind was dead ahead we would have had to make a zigzag course and we were feeling lazy. Also, Tony had said we would need to buy fuel when we got there... another first of the season. I would have to get the fenders out and prepare to go alongside the fuel dock. Well, at least I could be sure of having someone to catch lines, in fact, more likely, they would have their own mooring lines ready to throw to me. Please!!! But still, I was hoping Tony would forget and decide that we could buy the fuel as we were leaving... or even later, when we got to Ibiza. He didn't and I had to face up to it. I am always nervous at any manoeuvre.

All was going well, we were almost at the fuel dock when out of nowhere (well, out of the marina...) came a small speed boat, right on to the quay and there was nowhere for us to go. We would have to wait around. This was going to do my nerves no good whatsoever. Tony slowly reversed out of the harbour entrance - the normal thing to do in such circumstances is to hover and go round in circles. Here it was too narrow so the only solution was to go back out into the bay. The other boat was taking a long time. An ungainly blue platform that held jet skis was leaving the fuel quay and being towed out of the harbour and nothing was going to happen till that was safely done. Tony reversed, he hovered, he went forward, reversed again, hovered, and all the while I was getting more and more uptight. Eventually the blue monster was safely out of the harbour and the motor boat was ready to leave, lines were being untied. Our turn: please don't let another boat suddenly appear...

Of course, the manoeuvre was simple, easily done as it always is. As Tony says, if I don't have a mild panic I am not happy. But WoW, hasn't the price of fuel gone up this year. Yipes! And I assume it hasn't reached its peak yet, judging by the recent price of crude. Hopefully we will get lots of sailing in this season...

Back in the bay a motor boat got in just in front of us and you just know, in a situation like that, that is it going to drop its anchor exactly where you wanted to drop yours. We waited, watched where he went and then found a place to drop our own anchor. The bottom was sand and weed, not always easy for the anchor to grip, plus there was a fair wind blowing into the bay. As I have said before, we are normally good at anchoring and we have a great anchor but still, we sat and watched for a while, checking that the anchor was holding, that we weren't slipping slowly down the bay. All was well.

Now, Santa Ponça is another of those towns that we have visited before, this time on board Ganymede. And it was just not what we remembered. In our minds it was a sleepy little town, a pleasant anchorage. That first time we had arrived at nightfall after a long, wet afternoon. It was immediately after the storm in the marina that I mentioned a few blogs ago when we had been desperate to leave at any cost. The contrast had been dramatic: after the horrors of our previous night, Santa Ponça was flat calm, a full moon reflecting its path in the clear water. Of course, Alistair and Gill went ashore immediately: Gill's boat fever had not abated. We all went ashore next day, having first moved into the marina. I remember small, attractive houses, a few local shops, some restaurants.

The Santa Ponça we had come to this time was totally different. For one thing, one side of the bay was lined by huge, square, hotels, some with swimming pools in front, mostly not. They dominated the landscape and, indeed, it seemed that every square inch of cliff had a building of some sort clinging to it, outnumbering the trees. At the head of the bay there was, of course, a large sandy beach full of sun-loungers and umbrellas and also, lots of people. The tourist season in Santa Ponça was obviously well underway.

Eventually we went ashore. At first glance it was quite pretty. Touristy, but pretty. Well-laidout paths, a fountain, a large park, home of the trees we had seen from the beach. As usual, we were looking for a supermarket. Round a corner we went and suddenly... bars and restaurants, Scottish pubs, English pubs, Irish pubs... McDonalds, Burger King... signs advertising hamburger and chips, lasagna and chips, all day breakfasts... stores selling flipflops, beach balls, brightly coloured souvenirs... people wandering around wearing swimsuits, skimpy beach outfits...

Walking along the front we passed exhibits of giant sandcastles, marvellous constructions, and then on through the park where people were feeding the pigeons except, when we got closer they weren't pigeons, they were parrots... at least, they were bright green but smaller than parrots, more the size of a small dove and with them were small, grey, birds that looked like doves.

This was definitely not what we remembered. Alistair and Gill will be with us next week, we must ask them what they remember of the town.

Eventually we found a supermarket, bought what few fresh goods we could, stopped for a drink and then returned to Ganymede to pack ready to leave for Ibiza early next morning.

Cala Portals

1-3 June

Finally the rain managed to dump all the sand and we were left with clean rain, gradually washing the decks. Or so we hoped. All morning the rain battered down, banging on the decks, pouring down the windows. It looked very much as though we would be spending another night at anchor here in Colonia de Sant Jordi.

Some time the previous week, in Porto Petro, without noticing it, I had adjusted to life afloat, to being at anchor, the motion of the boat, the swell, the sound of the wind and the rain and also to the peace of a still, summer's day. Moving around the decks was no longer an effort and I was resorting less and less to the 'medicinal coke' my first solution to the slight seasickness that brings with it a feeling of nausea and a headache. But still, even though at midday the sky was looking brighter and there was a promise of better weather that afternoon, I decided that I would prefer to have lunch before we set off. I still wasn't sure that I could stay below deck, preparing food, during what I was sure would be an uncomfortable passage. By the time lunch was prepared, eaten and cleared away the sun was shining in a clear blue sky. We upped anchor and awayed!

There was a good wind from a fantastic direction: Ganymede loves to sail at 90º to the wind and that is where it was. We sailed all afternoon, the wind perfect. Slowly, over the last few weeks, I must have finally packed Ganymede ready for sailing. Life is good. Well, nothing is perfect. We were sailing on a port tack so every time we met a boat coming from the other direction and therefore on a starboard tack, we had to give way. And there seemed to be plenty of them and all requiring us to veer off our course in order to avoid them. The rule of the sea is: port tack gives way to starboard tack. It kept us on our toes.

Cala Portals was busier than we had expected and also deeper. Normally good at anchoring for some reason we were indecisive, got it wrong, didn't like where we ended up in the cala, tried again with similar results before finally finding a suitable resting place. Of course, an hour later, when all the day boats had left, it would have been so much easier.

We rarely move two days running and Cala Portals was no exception. We spent two nights there. The weather was calm with clear blue skies and only a few clouds. The cala was the usual sort: some houses, a few beaches, restaurants, cliffs, pine trees. Built into the cliffs on the headland are some ancient tombs believed to date to Phoenician times. Sadly, the tomb-caves have been disfigured by graffiti and there is a lot of rubbish lying around. If the tombs were cleaned up, the rubbish cleared, would visitors be more inclined to keep them pristine? Does the fact that they are dirty and in poor condition produce a feeling of contempt in some visitors, a belief that it doesn't matter how they behave?

There are four little inlets off the cala and at the head of each cala there is a well-kept beach. All of the beaches are popular but perhaps the most popular is the second beach (starting from the small port, if ever you want to visit). This was the nudist beach and was the first to fill up each morning: sun worshippers in search of a perfect, all-over tan.

After two very comfortable nights it was time to up anchor once more. We motored round to Santa Ponça.

To Colonia St Jordi

31st May

It was Saturday morning and once again it had rained overnight. And once again, the rain had dumped a load of sand on us. It really was time to move on and since the sky was brightening and there was no more rain we decided to go. It was a short distance to Colonia de Sant Jordi, our next destination, another of those towns we visited by road at Christmas.

The sea was calm, the wind non-existent and we motored along the coast to Sant Jordi, past pine-topped cliffs and narrow calas, the scenery here rugged and wild, probably bleak in winter. We rounded the headland on the final stretch to Sant Jordi and the countryside suddenly changed: we were looking at a flat plain, none of it much above sea level.

(We have now arrived in Ibiza by the way.)

We anchored off the port, in shallow water, much shallower than we normally like. It was 3.3 meters in places. Tony was not too happy but I hate being on the extreme outside of an anchorage which is where we would have had to move to. And anyway, this was from the man who carefully did not check the depths last week as we swung on the buoy. We stayed where we were and watched the depth gauge for a while before having lunch and going ashore.

Looking at the small chart in the pilot guide and now from our anchorage in the bay, we could see that Sant Jordi was much bigger than I remembered. To one side was a huge urban development, mostly houses but also a number of large hotels. Ahead of us was a large beach and a coastal path that led to a small house on the shore (that I felt sure was a wonderful spot for a restaurant) and on, along the coast and into the distance, sea one side, pine forest the other. We didn't see any of this at Christmas.

But once ashore we immediately recognised the harbour and the immediate surroundings. However, instead of the sleepy town with only a few places open, the town was now buzzing. The restaurants were all doing a roaring trade (it was already 3.30) and I immediately regretted that we had eaten on board, the food smelled good.

We were on a quest to find a supermarket, which we found, only to discover that it was closed and wouldn't open until 4.30... oh well, it gave us an opportunity to look around, explore the town. Nothing much to report there. After the old quarter of Palma, these newer towns in the countryside tend to disappoint us. with their rectilinear street plan and square, unadorned buildings.We stopped for a drink and then to the, now open, supermarket which we were relieved to find was well-stocked.

I am sure that the area around Sant Jordi is very interesting with good walks and plenty of places to visit. For us it was simply an overnight stop, an opportunity to stock up on essential supplies before moving on.

Next morning we awoke once again to rain. More sand.

Still in Porto Petro

24-31 May

We awoke the next morning to the sound of rain pitter pattering on the decks. Why did Tony say that yesterday? Why does he always have to tempt fate? Maybe I would have to take an umbrella, something I normally hate.

The rain stopped before it was time to leave so we had a dry dinghy ride into town. The visit to the hairdresser was successful, the cut good. However, I knew I was in trouble as soon as the girl started with the hair-dryer. Talk about bouffant hairstyle. It may have looked good on someone younger but on me it just looked silly. As I left the salon the rain started again. Thank you rain, thank you Tony for tempting fate. In no time at all I was back to normal.

It was obvious we wouldn’t be moving that day so I stocked up as best I could, enough food at least until Monday as, even if we move tomorrow, Sunday, everything will be closed. Just as well I did because it rained most of the day and again on Sunday. Oh how dull and grey it all was, we should be well into summer now and we’re not.

Ganymede was only a few weeks old when we were caught in a marina that didn’t have adequate protection during one of the worst storms we have ever experienced. We had mooring lines at the stern, at the bow, at the beam; there were two forward lines on the bow and Ganymede was pulled as far out from the quay as possible, the dinghy in the water behind, a buffer if those forward lines should break. All day and all night the wind howled around us and waves crashed onto the hull. Ganymede creaked and groaned, groaned and creaked. I was sure the cleats would be ripped out or the hull torn apart. Tony and Alistair kept watch all night and then, around seven o’clock, there was a loud bang. One of the forward lines had snapped. The marina staff attached a new line to us, taking it across the mouth of the marina and thereby closing the harbour.By this time Gill, our daughter-in-law was desperate to get off the boat, by any means humanly possible. Eventually she succeeded, climbing down into the dinghy, timing the rise and all of the stern, and then from the dinghy climbing up again, on to the quay. I call this boat fever, getting off the boat at any cost.

I got boat fever that Sunday.

(We are still on passage to Ibiza, the wind has dropped and we have had to haul in the genoa. A passing boat has caused a huge swell and I am holding fast to my laptop, waiting for peace to resume.)

Monday dawned bright and sunny but the weather forecast was still bad. When in doubt, make a trip into town and have a coffee. That’s what we did. Then we had lunch. The weather forecast was not good at least until Wednesday. Already we had abandoned our original plan to go to Menorca and spend a few days in Cala Fornells. As the week progressed we gave up plans to go to Pollensa and round the north of the island to Soller. Then we decided not to go any further east along the south coast. We would, instead, head back, across the Bay of Palma to Santa Ponça and then to Ibiza to await the arrival of Alistair, Gill and two year old Eva on 10th June.

We were a week in Porto Petro waiting for a better weather forecast. The forecast for Wednesday had been good but I had decided to take the local bus to Santanyi, the main town in the area, about 5 kms away, where it was market day. But on Wednesday morning we once again awoke to the pitter patter of raindrops. This was the pattern of the week, some days sunny and warm, other days wet and miserable. We went ashore when we could and our days took on the usual pattern: ashore for coffee, maybe lunch, a walk somewhere and, if the day remained fine, ashore again in the evening for coffee or maybe tapas. Perhaps in the end we were happy to have the excuse of the weather, causing us to dally awhile. We like to dally.

In the end it was time to go, no more putting off. We had to start making our way to Ibiza.

Porto Petro and Cala d'Or

23 May

Next morning we went into town in the dinghy. Rounding the edge of the inlet we saw a long, low building, somewhat plain, all white concrete and glass. At first glance I thought it was a school but then realised that it was part of the hotel complex, probably a restaurant. Plain it may have been, but it blended in well with its surroundings, and the view from that restaurant must have been awesome, out over the bay, the boats at anchor, the distant shoreline with its rocky slopes, scattered pines and beautiful villas. And in the other direction, the entrance to the bay and the sea beyond.

Further round, there was the sea wall and a marina. In fact, there was the marina, used for pleasure boats and run by the Club Nautica, and then a small port that was used for local boats and by the boats that gave tours round the bay and other nearby calas. Then there is a finger of the bay that is home to a myriad of small fishing boats. Ashore, there are bars and restaurants and a few tourist shops. Our first stop was for coffee. No trip ashore is complete without a stop for café con leche. Then we are ready to face the rigours of finding a supermarket.

That day I also wanted to find a hairdresser. I had been putting it off for weeks, or not finding the time, or the opportunity, now was to be THE DAY. A signpost showed us the way to the hairdresser and the supermarket so off we went. Hairdresser found, there was no appointment available... she suggested the next morning and I was about to say no when I heard Tony say that would be fine. Uh? We were to leave tomorrow, what was he thinking of? So I made the appointment and also one for him to have his hair cut. As we left the salon Tony said, 'hope it doesn't rain tomorrow'.

Next stop, supermarket. Oh dear! I had intended to do a fairly comprehensive shop but this store was geared towards holidaymakers who only wanted the most basic items. The range of fruit and vegetables was poor and there was virtually no meat - and from what I had seen of the town so far, no other source of meat or vegetables existed. Oh dear, indeed. I bought what I could - I still had some fresh food on board - and we headed back into town. There was nothing perishable in the shopping so we put it in the dinghy and went for a stroll around the town.

One of those little trains that go round tourist resorts stopped just in front of us. This one was called the "TGV' and was going to Cala d'Or, a huge tourist complex about 3 kms away. It was very full but a kind gentleman in the last seat of the last compartment moved over to let us in. Not a lot of space for four of us... but we were in, the safety bar locked, and off we went. I have to say, it was quite scary. I had expected a slow, pleasant journey along leafy lanes. What we got was the main road into Cala d'Or, lots of traffic and me hanging over the edge, not quite fitting. My elbow soon took to hugging my side as we seemed almost to brush past lamposts and shrubs. On the way back I would be sure to find a better place to sit.

(We are still on passage to Ibiza, by the way, and have just pulled out the sails but the engine is still on. Motor-sailing again!)

We have been to Cala d'Or before, by road at Christmas, when almost everything was closed, for the holiday period or, more likely, the winter season. We had found a beautiful cala there, the usual sort, stony shore, pine clad, narrow U-shape with sandy beach at the head. There was a yacht at anchor and I thought at the time, 'this would be a good overnight anchorage'. Tony hadn't been with us that day so I wanted to take the opportunity to show it to him. Maybe we could go there the following night, if he was in agreement. It was a short hop from Porto Petro. (Tony, having read this, says I should explain that Cala d'Or is the name of the town and that 'cala' means a small bay, or creak. Within the area that is the town of Cala d'Or there are several 'calas'.)

Of course, I couldn't find the cala I wanted! I remembered that it had been a short walk from there to the marina so I thought we could retrace our footsteps. Now for another confession. As well as not remembering the way, I had the wrong cala! I thought we were looking for Cala Esmeralda when in fact we wanted Cala Gran. I recognised it immediately when I saw it. The beach, deserted at Christmas, today was a mass of sun loungers and umbrellas, sunbathers, children playing. The restaurant had re-opened and was doing a roaring trade. I took a picture to send to our grandson, Oliver. He'll never recognise it. The bad news was that Tony didn't like it, thought it was too narrow for safe anchoring. It didn't seem any narrower than our current anchorage but... well, Captain knows best.

We thought we may as well have a look at Cala Esmeralda and so continued our walk. It was a lot further than we had anticipated and there was nothing interesting to look at. After a while one white house looks pretty much like the next one, especially when it is situated inside a white wall, gardens all the same, pretty, but in the end, not special. Especially when the sun is growing stronger and there is not a lot of shade. And Tony had failed to bring a hat and should stay out of direct sun because of some pills that he pops.

Cala Esmeralda is obviously the main hotel area of the town. Huge hotels, swimming pools... and people enjoying an early summer break. The sound of laughter was everywhere. However, the cala itself, when we reached it, was disappointing from the point of view of anchoring. Much too small. Pretty, but too small.

The walk back into town, past Cala d'Or and on up the hill to the main drag, didn't seem as long as the walk out. Funny that, isn't it, how so often the return journey seems shorter. We were glad of that, thinking as we were, of lunch. We found a simple little restaurant that didn't seem to be offering the usual tourist menu and settled down to enjoy the menu del diá. The menu del diá seems to us to offer great value for money but also, the portions are smaller. Choosing a three course meal à la carte generally means portions that are much too big for the average appetite or even my huge appetite - I do love food. Our menu del diá in Cala d'Or, at €7.90 including three courses and wine, was just perfect!

After lunch we went into a nearby supermarket but food shopping after a good lunch is almost impossible. We didn't buy anything opting instead to take a taxi back to Porto Petro and so to Ganymede, still safe on her mooring.

To Porto Petro

22nd May

I have found this blog difficult to write. I don't know why: perhaps because I thought it was going to be easy. Anyway, I finally got it down... then somehow or other manage to delete the file. I've NEVER done that before. Calamity! So here I am, hoping I can get it down again without too many tries. Today, almost two weeks later, I am sitting in the cockpit as we make our way to Ibiza... seven hours of passage so hopefully I can get it done before we arrive. At the moment there is not a breath of wind and it looks like a smooth crossing, but no sail.

Back to Cabrera. We motored out of the very protected harbour and were making our way through a channel between islands (Conejera and Redonda) when we realised there was some wind so, as soon as we were through, out came the genoa. The wind was behind us so there was no point bringing out the mainsail. If there is a wind direction that Ganymede hates, it is from behind. I would like to say she makes slow, stately progress but I suspect the truth is more that she waddles like a duck and doesn't make a lot of progress. But sail we would. Our first sail of the season and I felt ready for it.

We would like to sell Ganymede and buy a smaller boat and often discuss the possibility of giving up sail and buying a motor cruiser, strictly engine only. After all, here in the Med the wind is either too little, too much or directly on the bow. We find we motor about 70% of the time. But then the day arrives when the wind is perfect, we put up the sails, switch off the engine and... silence. Except, it isn't silence. It is the noise of nature, of the wind in the sails, waves sploshing on the hull and Ganymede swishing through the water. Bliss! Then we know that we won't be buying a motor cruiser.

Today's sail was perfect for a first of the season, especially since I still didn't have my sea-legs. With the wind behind there is no heeling over and progress seems gentle. In fact, we made almost 7 knots at times, mostly it was between 5.5 and 6 and even down to 4 - our rule is that we start the engine at 4 knots, which in reality means that we will go down to 3 - just give the wind one more chance - before we give up. The wind was in our favour that day and we were able to sail all the way to Porto Perto, on mainland Mallorca, two hours away.

Arriving in the bay at Porto Petro we discovered that mooring buoys have been laid but there was no-one around to tell us which ones, if any, we could pick up. Although there were orange buoys and white buoys they all seemed to be randomly placed. As we approached our preferred anchorage I noticed someone sitting in the cockpit of the only boat currently moored. The flag was British so no problem with the language. I called, asked about mooring and was told that he didn't know, he had been there a few days and no-one had come near. Did we want help picking up a buoy? Did we want help!!! So that was that, five minutes later, in spite of a wind that tried to make life difficult, we were comfortably moored and taking note of our surroundings.

We had chosen an inlet from the main bay, just inside the entrance, In fact, the inlet divided into two and we were at the mouth of the larger one, which was still not large. The shore on either side was stony, dotted with pine trees. It rose steeply to a band of pines and behind those, the low buildings of a hotel complex, the buildings only partially viewed through the trees. In places some steps had been built to give access to bathing platforms but I had the impression that this had not been a great success. Diving into the sea was easy enough. Getting out again was not. I could see one ladder... broken. However, the platforms were popular with sunbathers who, when too hot, would make there way gingerly to the shore and splash cool water over themselves. At the head of the bay there was a stretch of sandy beach. On a further shore were some luxurious looking villas and then the cliff that led round to the lighthouse on the headland.

Looking out over the rest of the bay, the impression was of a circular bay, the entrance narrow. The best kind of bay. There was another anchorage with mooring buoys across and further into the bay and more buoys down the middle. This further bay was more popular with maybe a dozen boats moored there. But our little inlet had a wifi connection. I think I will make a map of anchorages where there is wifi available.

So that is the bay at Porto Petro, as far as we can see. It remained to be seen how Ganymede would swing on the buoy. Tony assures me we will be fine. He always does. I am never so sure, worrying about being too close to shore, about hitting bottom. As it was, there was no problem but Ganymede did need the entire width of the inlet. Tony didn't check the depths as we swung and I assiduously didn't suggest it. We swung towards shore. No problem. We swung towards the other shore. It was close but all was well. In the middle of the night we swung towards the nearest buoy... and gently rubbed against it. Tony had to get up and tighten the mooring line to pull Ganymede forward, off the offending buoy.

Next morning we went ashore, to investigate, buy in supplies and go to the hairdresser.

Our stay in Puerto Cabrera

20th-22nd May

Safely moored to the buoy, we escaped below decks and enjoyed a celebratory glass of wine listening to the rain pounding on the roof, feeling smug.

Our original permit was for two nights but we were able to extend for a third night giving us time for some short walks around the bay.

The first hike, of course, had to be to the castle on the headland, a short walk, steep in places, along a dirt track, taking pictures, catching fleeting glimpses of the many small, black lizards we could hear scratching around in the undergrowth and trying to identify the various plants that we saw. Other than gulls, we saw very few birds. The castle is in good condition, some renovation work having been carried out. (I belong to the school of thought that prefers to see ancient buildings rebuilt in their original style rather than look at a ruin and try to imagine what it once looked like.) The views in every direction were breathtaking. Small as castles go, the only part of it that was open to the public were the stairs leading to the roof. It had to be the narrowest, steepest, darkest staircase I have ever come across, spiralling round and round in the dark so that soon all sense of direction was lost. Definitely not for the fainthearted.

The major hike we attempted was to the lighthouse on Punta Anciola on the south western tip of the island, for which a permit was required. Sitting on Ganymede we could see the track that led to the lighthouse, meandering over the island, along a valley and up and over, out of sight, to the lighthouse that we knew was there. So, on the morning of our second day we headed ashore with the intention of applying for both an extra night and a permit for the lighthouse. I thought this would require some time and had intended to go back to Ganymede for a picnic lunch, and water. The permits were issued there and then so we decided to forego the picnic and leave immediately.

The track led along the shore. There was plenty to look at: a small electricity generating station the aim of which was to use mostly solar energy but with diesel as a backup. A small hamlet, the second jetty, some beaches and then we were round the head of the bay, making our way round the other side and up into the countryside. The road was good and on either side the vegetation was thick with shrubs and low-growing trees, mainly wild olive and juniper. In a few days it would look stunning, the wild flowers were in bud, ready to open out. The only sound seemed to be that of the small lizards that are everywhere on the island: apparently there are at least ten varieties that are found only on Cabrera. They scuttle around, running for cover as we approach. No bird song though.

We were climbing steadily now, winding round in a series of hairpin bends. There was little shade and the sun was getting stronger. We kept going, certain that round the next bend, over the next hill, we would see the lighthouse, be almost there. When we did eventually reach the final summit, round the final bend and see the lighthouse, disaster! We were only halfway there! Not only that, the road led down a valley and then snaked up in a series of zigzags that rose slowly to the lighthouse. To make matters worse, there was no shade to be had, just the sun beating down on white stony ground, reflecting its rays back up on the weary traveller. Reluctantly we decided that it would be unwise to continue, not without water. So we turned around and slowly made our way back to the main jetty, looking forward to a long, cool drink at the cafeteria before going back to Ganymede.

Other than taking short walks, our time on Cabrera was mostly spend on board Ganymede, amazing at the slow pace of life, the tranquility of it. How would one live there? Perhaps it would be an idyllic retreat for someone who wanted to write a novel, or paint, or unwind from a stressful existence. There were maybe four landrovers on the island, a lorry with a crane and a pickup truck. No journey seemed to be too small to require the use of one or other of them. In the evening the lorry was there to unload boxes and crates that came in on the supply vessel (doesn't that sound grand... supply vessel). What a life. I wondered how long I could live like that before needing to visit a supermarket, or wander through a busy town. Not long, I suspected.

One of our favourite things was to feed the gulls. It started with feeding bread to the fish - this had been a highly recommended 'thing to do' when on Cabrera. But the gulls got there first. Now, the fish were monsters and the gulls obviously held them in great respect. If the fish got there first, the gulls were not going to argue with them. However, in order to avoid losing a foot, or a leg, or sustaining some other serious injury, the gulls had become great acrobats, able to catch bread mid-flight. Tony started to deliberately throw the bread high in the air so that they had a better chance of catching it before it hit the water. They were amazing. Round they would go, like a pilot approaching a runway, line up for the bread and... gulp... it was gone and round the gull would go again, ready for the next morsel. When they finally accepted that no more bread would be forthcoming most of them would fly off, leaving one poor bird to sit and wait, and watch, ready to give word when the next meal was on offer. Or that's what we figured was going on.

The joy of Cabrera was the tranquility. There are no jet skis, no power boats in the bay. Only yachts, the occasional fishing boat and the two ferries that visit every day at this time of year. There will be more in summer. Visitors are limited to 200 each day, 300 in high season, and they stay on the island for only a couple of hours. Then the island is left to the few permanent residents and the visiting yachts sitting in the bay.

We would have stayed longer, we will go back.

Cabrera

19th May

And so we set off for Cabrera. The sky was clearing, there were even some blue patches around. Once away from the anchorage we decided that we would pull out the mainsail. There wasn't enough wind to sail by but the sail would add an extra half a knot or so to our speed and more importantly, it would steady the boat, keep her from rolling from side to side as she crossed the waves. We managed about an hour of motor sailing before bringing the sail in, there was no more wind. All around us storms were building up and we were sure that we would be soaked. Happily they all passed us by and we arrived in Puerto Cabrera warm and dry.

The next challenge was to pick up a mooring buoy. We have managed to avoid this for six years but finally we had to face up to the task. It was that or not stay there as anchoring is prohibited. Well, as I knew would be the case, I couldn't reach the buoy with the boat hook and pick up the line. Tony tried but he also couldn't grasp the line. There was only one other thing to do... get the dinghy down from the davits and row out to the buoy. I was calm, no point panicking, I had to do this, it wasn't so difficult. I sent the bow thruster in the wrong direction first time I used it. Not good! But then I got my lefts and rights sorted out (I do wish Tony would use port and starboard), managed to keep Ganymede near the buoy while Tony got our line through the mooring line and then back to Ganymede, where I collected it and secured it to the anchor cleat on the bow. It would have been easier but a wind got up, a storm was moving in. In the end we did it without too much difficulty and I thought that maybe I should be promoted a notch in the competent crew stakes. Of course, we realised we had picked up the wrong buoy. The buoys are colour coded, according to size, and we should have picked up an orange buoy. But we couldn't tell the difference between orange and red, they all looked the same. We had picked up a red one. Oh well, we would see what happened, if we were asked to move, we would have to go through it all again. Practice makes perfect. But we were able to stay where we were, it is the low season and there were plenty of buoys available.

No sooner had we gone below decks than the storm hit. Perfect timing. And it was clean rain, water rain, no sand.

My eldest son tells me that I should describe in detail the bays that we anchor in and for some years I have been looking at bays, drawing a mental picture but in the end I have come to the conclusion that there is not much variety in what provides a safe anchorage, there are characteristics that are shared by all of them. However, here are my first impressions of Puerto Cabrera. The entrance is narrow and according to the pilot guide it is easy to enter in almost all sea conditions but my own feeling as we approached was that I wouldn't like to enter it in a storm. This was perhaps because of a strange occurrence when we were about two miles off. (I always mean nautical miles when I talk of sea passages, by the way: 1 nautical miles is just under 2kms.) Anyway, we were going along quite nicely. The rollers were larger now and I would estimate that there was a one meter sea running but it was not uncomfortable. Suddenly, Ganymede lurched violently to port, decks almost in the water, and then immediately to starboard, decks almost in the water again, before righting herself. At the same time, she dipped violently. Tony and I looked at each other, what was going on? Below decks, still not well packed, things were flying. That'll teach me. And then it was over. Thing was, there were things that were in their permanent positions and never moved in the fiercest of storms that jumped off shelves, over fiddles. Crazy! So I was nervous about going through that entrance.

There is a 14th century castle on the headland, keeping watch. This was once the lair of corsairs and the castle was built to keep them out. Once inside, the bay opens up, vaguely circular. Some 50 buoys have been laid. Depending on the season and availability, boats can stay one or two nights or even up to a week. There are a couple of little inlets. The safest, most comfortable, is over in the southwest corner and is reserved for the smallest boats. The main jetty is to the northeast of the bay where there are a few buildings, some housing the offices of the marine and nature reserve and of the military. There is also a small cantina serving drinks and icecreams and on good days, baguettes. There is another collection of buildings towards the south of the bay, possibly for military personnel. From the jetty a roadway leads along the bay, past the military base and a second jetty and on to a small beach. There is a steep track that leads behind the houses and up to the castle. It also goes down to the buildings that house the lighthouse personnel.

The land is mostly garrigue, hilly rather than mountainous. From our mooring in the middle of the cala we could see a track on the western side that we learned led to a lighthouse on the southwestern tip of the island, Punto Anciola. There are some trees in the middle of the island but mostly it is shrubs, rosemary, and low-growing plants. The other thing we can see from our anchorage is a solar farm.

The water is beautiful. To sit there in calm weather, enjoying the peace, watching the fish, must be very special. During our time there the water was always slightly agitated, waves rippling the surface, hiding the fish. But it was good. When an area is looked after like this, both on land and at sea, it is so easy to want to look after it too, to protect the environment, keep it pristine.

For weeks I had been looking forward to leaving the marina, to nights spent at anchor, the special silence, waking up in the middle of the night and hearing nothing... and then the gentle splash of a wave on the hull. Magic. So far this season it hadn't happened and the following night was no different with the constant slip slap of wave washing onto the hull. But I did discover that being on a mooring buoy was different, more steady. There was always wind, always some swell, but in my opinion the movement of the boat was gentler than if we had been at anchor. I liked buoys.