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.