Heading for Mesolonghi

Catchup time again!

When last I wrote we were in Port Atheni on Meganisi, a lovely spot. From there we went back to Nidri where a spent a couple of days at anchor in Tranquil Bay, met up with Pat and Jenny on Muscavado, again, weathered a couple of storms and finally decided, let's go back to Port Atheni and then be on our way to Mesolonghi. (By the way, if I keep changing my spelling of Mesolonghi it is because I have seen so many different spellings I can't decide which one to adopt!)

We needed to fill up with water so we immediately secured Ganymede stern-to the quay and there we stayed for three days. The weather was unsettled but we were able to wander up to the village of Katamiri, through the narrow streets, sit and drink coffee and watch the world go by, all the while greeting everyone as we passed, "kali mera, kali merasas, yassas...". The tourist season was definitely at an end. Some of the cafés and restaurants had already closed, others opened at random times so that you could never be sure what you would find, others were planning to remain open one more week.

The wind turned northerly and our peaceful mooring became less pleasant with waves hitting us broadside, pushing us, straining the anchor. We decided to move, drop anchor in the bay. And then we thought, the wind is perfect for Mesolonghi, why don't we just get on our way? So that is what we did. In three hours we were at anchor in Petala bay, another three hour sail ahead of us the following day - although that turned out to be three hours motoring, very little useful wind, and we were in Mesolonghi. Ready for the winter.

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.

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...

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

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.