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.

Cartagena

1st-4th July

We had to change tack a few times but the wind kept up, we sailed all afternoon and eventually arrived at Cartagena around five o'clock, just as a submarine decided to emerge from the depths. It was quite close. And then, it seemed to us, it appeared to be racing us to the entrance. I wasn't sure I liked this. It won, of course. Well, Tony wasn't taking chances. If that submarine wanted to get ahead of us, he wasn't going to argue with it. It wasn't a big submarine. In fact, it was amazingly small. As it neared the harbour the crew got out and stood on the deck, a long line of sailors, whether to be ready to throw lines ashore and help with the berthing... or whether they desperately needed to get out, get a breath of fresh air... who knows.

We headed for the marina. I had telephoned that morning to reserve a place but when Tony called on the radio the wrong marina answered, so we went to that one instead. It was very new and the people seemed friendly. However, the wind was blowing quite strongly and we had to go in alongside the pontoon instead of stern-in as we usually do. Well, as you know, I am not good with last minute changes of plan when we are 'parking' Ganymede and suddenly I was having to change all the fenders, lower them, get out an extra mooring line... and, as I said, the wind was blowing. I lost it. I rushed around, here, there and everywhere, achieving little. Tony kept his cool, as usual, and after a lot of shuffling, dropping mooring lines, catching them again, bow-thruster, reverse gear, forward gear, a few more panics from me... we were all tied up and could sit down and relax. And watch the boat crew that had been hanging around watching us, waiting their turn show us just how it was done. Of course, they didn't have a boat behind them, pushing them on. Well, that's my excuse. It certainly didn't make life easier.

First priority was to fill up with water. The tanks were empty. The water-maker hadn't been working well in Torrevieja, had been even worse in the Mar Menor and I hadn't been paying attention and made good use of the washing machine until suddenly we realised there was a crisis. So, tanks filled, showers...

... and on to the next thing - get a WiFi access organised so a mad rush to the office before it closed. And then we were free to wander into the town.

We weren't sure what to expect. None of the guides we read seemed to have anything good to say about Cartagena and we hadn't talked to anyone who was willing to recommend it. So, let me do justice to Cartagena: it is well worth a visit!

Although built on a plain, the town is surrounded by hills and even in the town itself huge rocks seem to pop up all over the place. Large edifices are built around them, sometimes right up to the rocks themselves. There is much regeneration going on and we were often surprised, peering round the facade of an otherwise totally demolished building, to see nothing but rock. Many buildings have already been renovated or preserved and there are some beautiful examples of late 19th century architecture. Wandering round the town it seemed obvious that Cartagena has enjoyed an immensely rich past.

The town was apparently founded by the brother of Hannibal, Cartagena meaning 'New Carthage'. Did Hannibal ever unload his elephants here, I wonder? A 16th century Genoese admiral apparently remarked that there were only three safe ports in the Mediterranean: June, July and Cartagena. Certainly, the harbour and the bay are impressive and we had no idea just what was happening out to sea in the few days that we spent there.

We enjoyed a visit to the castle. Not interesting in itself but there was a lovely park, peacocks everywhere and spectacular views over the town and the bay. A lift is available for those who do not want the steep hike up to the castle, with a reduction from €1 to 80¢ for pensioners. I wasn't sure how I felt about being so old... but Tony had no such quibbles!

Walking into town at dusk we noticed the figure of a man carrying what looked like a heavy sack on his back... a bronze statue of a sailor home from the sea. On a bench we saw a man and a woman deep in conversation... a 19th century bronze couple. We were to see more of these bronze statues over the next few weeks, always when least expected, always requiring a second glance.

During the time we spent there we wandered round the town, enjoyed the attractive pedestrian shopping street, found the train and bus stations but no easy way to get to Valencia so abandoned that idea once again. Nor did we take a bus to Murcia making the excuse that at this time of year it would be unbearably hot. But we had a pleasant time, a few good meals and made a decision: We would go back to Moraira and wait for Charlie.

The Mar Menor

29th-30thJune

We left Torrevieja on Sunday morning with the idea that we would go to Cartagena that day but also thinking that we may visit the Mar Menor, a large inland sea a few hours sail down the coast. We would decide when we got there: the entrance is via a canal that is supposedly dredged to 4 metres but our pilot guide warns that it can get down to 3 metres. We draw 2.7 metres. Also, there is a bridge that only opens at certain times and we didn't know how convenient it would be. We didn't want to be waiting around for hours. However there is an island offshore that provides an anchorage with some shelter. We would see.

After a good sail, nothing too daunting, we arrived at the island. There were the usual Sunday boats at anchor - always a good sign - and we decided to at least stop for lunch, have a think about whether to enter the Mar Menor. According to the pilot guide, the bridge would open at five o'clock. At around quarter to four I noticed that there was a rush of boats all heading for the canal. 'I think the bridge may be about to open,' I said to Tony. 'Can't be,' he said, 'the book says it opens at five." Oh well... but still more boats were heading in the direction of the canal and the bridge. 'I really think the bridge is about to open...' Tony looked around but still wasn't convinced. Then the man in the boat next to us started to raise his anchor. I shouted and he confirmed that the bridge opened at four.

You have never seen us move so fast. On with the engine, up with the anchor and off we rushed, catching up to and then following the other boats. It was going to be tight. We were the last boat in the queue. The speed limit in the canal was 3 knots. The boat in front was doing 8 knots, trying to overtake another, slower boat. So... Tony was also doing 8 knots, watching the depth gauge all the while. To begin with it was fine, 6 metres, 5 metres, 4 metres. Tony was still having to make speed just to keep up with the boat in front. And then we were up with the others, waiting, hanging around for the bridge to open. There was a long tail of boats. Tony was looking pale, grim. We had slowed right down. And we had reached the point of no return - we couldn't turn round if we wanted to. The depth was now 3.5 metres. Tony had a sort of panic look on his face. 'We just went down to 2.8 metres!' he exclaimed. Ouch! And then the bridge opened. There were now boats behind us, definitely no going back. Under the bridge the depth went to 2.7 metres, we slowed... and then continued. Now we were back in 4 metres, 6 metres, 8 metres. We were through!

The Mar Menor is separated from the sea by a sandbank that is approximately 13 miles long. Entrance is via a canal that is dredged to a minimum depth of four metres, as I said before. A lifting bridge opens regularly to allow boats to enter and leave the sea. For me, the most notable thing about the sandbank - called La Manga de Mar Menor - is the density of building. I know I have mentioned this all down the coast since we arrived at Moraira, but at La Manga is was unbelievable. Here was a sandbank, no more than 2-5 metres above sea-level and on every available inch of land, or so it seemed, there was a huge apartment block.

Tony chose to anchor just outside the canal. We discussed the spot and all was going well until Tony shouted 'Now!' Huh? This wasn't at all what we had agreed and, what's more, I didn't like it, it was too far out and felt exposed. I questioned, he repeated 'NOW!' and I dropped then anchor, muttering all the while. So then there was a strop. This wasn't what we had decided. I didn't like it. We seemed to be just outside the route everyone took when leaving the canal... or heading back to the canal. And... in spite of what the book said about the bridge opening at five o'clock... well, yes it did. I admit it. But it also opened at six, seven, eight... and so on, Why did he change his mind? It was for my sake, of course, this would be a better spot from which to take the dinghy ashore. Because, of course, we had come up against the usual problem: nowhere ashore to leave the dinghy. We had to go back down the canal, to the entrance to the marina. Another Humph! but it didn't help. I still didn't like where we were anchored. I sulked and huffed for the remainder of the afternoon, as boats seemed to whizz past us to and from the canal. Eventually, though, the strop diminished and we went ashore to investigate and enjoy a glass of wine.

The date: Sunday, 29th June. The final of the European Cup: Spain v Germany. After the celebrations of Thursday night we were looking forward to great things if Spain won. There weren't a lot of people around, this is a tourist area and the season isn't in full swing, the restaurants were empty. We were, of course, eating out. Even if we hadn't been before, after my grump it was a cert! The restaurant was very quiet: three staff and four tables of customers. The television was on, of course, and the staff were wearing Spanish tee-shirts. Dinner was good. Sardines - I was half keeping to my diet. The other half - the half not on a diet, shared a bottle of wine with Tony. I tried to make sure his share was bigger... Dinner was over by half time but we decided to stay until the end. We finished our wine, drank our coffee and then the lady came over with yet more wine... which we drank, of course. The finish was an anti-climax. After the celebrations of the semi-final perhaps that was to be expected. The three Spaniards hugged each other, we indicated how pleased we were that Spain had won... and that was it. The other restaurants were equally quiet. We made our way back to Ganymede. There were a few rockets went up, a few bangs, and it was over. We went sadly to bed.

Next morning we made our way to the bottom corner of the sea and anchored off La Puerto de La Manga. It didn't look pretty. We tried going ashore but, as usual, it wasn't easy, a very unfriendly Club Nautico made it difficult. Ashore, we didn't much like what we saw. In the water - very topical this - hoards of jelly fish - you know, those pretty purple ones that you definitely don't want to get near. No wonder there was no-one swimming. We decided we didn't like this town and would move to another, opposite the canal. However, although I am sure the town was very pretty, we couldn't get near it. The depth was 3 metres even 500 metres from the shore. Hmmm! We decided to go back to the anchorage of the previous night, and to the same restaurant.

Next morning we left early and made our way to Cartagena.