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.