Back On That Bus

Barcelona, Spain

Castell dels Tres Dragons in Parc de la Ciutadella - a view from our hotel room

Sadly, Barcelona was “out” of our revised float plan.  However, GS had pre-booked flights home via this wonderful Spanish city (rather than Madrid), so it seemed a shame to miss seeing it.  Somehow, after our boat storage/cleaning efforts and before the long haul home, we managed to finish up with a treat  - a few days “relaxing” in downtown Barcelona.  

Tempting vistas everywhere

And interesting tiling options too!

Given previous transport difficulties (getting to Malta springs to mind), moving from the Algarve to Spain was a dream.  From Barcelona’s International Terminals and every 15 minutes, Aerobuses move passengers and piles of luggage quickly into the city.  This is just one of many easy transport options - impressive!  It took us 30 mins to Plaza Catalunya, city hub central and only a short stroll to most tourist sights.  From here we walked to our hotel stopping only a few times to orient ourselves in the narrow streets of Barri Gotic.  Now, if anything sends tingles up your travel bug, it’s walking late at night on a damp evening through the old quarter of Barcelona.  We couldn’t wait to get out and explore. 

Narrow streets of the old town

The big red tour bus, one of our favourite (and no walking!) reconnaissance options, went right by our hotel, so it was easy to spend our first day getting some measure of the city.  This little jaunt took us over 5½ hours (on the two routes) around the city, up into the hills and along tempting beaches and of course, threw up many options for further investigation.  Needless to say, Barcelona is Gaudi country and GS who is rather a fan, had already booked a (skip-the-line) tour taking in visits to his architectural wonders.  A shrine we decided not to visit was the Barcelona Football Club.  Visitors flock here apparently – it’s one of Barcelona’s top attractions, regularly drawing record crowds.  We left it to the cashed-up devoted.  Further on and more in our line of sport (yes, yes, it’s a moot point), we caught sight of Christopher Columbus standing sentinel over a vast port complex, including cruise ship docks and huge modern marina, reminding us of an experience we had had to bypass.  Mind you, in hindsight, it might really have taken some effort to leave…

Port Vell with a view back to the Columbus Column & the start of La Rambla

We finished the day with a stroll down La Rambla with a gazillion others (there were 4 large cruise ships in) even in late September then made our way back to the hotel through the labyrinthine old quarter, picking up a pizza on the way.  Night-life and tapas is very tempting, but we had smashed the “overdoing it” barrier and needed rest and a glass of very pleasant & rather quaffable Spanish wine.

Sadly, these fab chairs wouldn't fit into our suitcases....

Lunch in Lagos

Oh dear, here's troubles....

It’s always fun to host friends on board, even if only for a day AND in the sanctuary of a very cozy marina!  Laurie & Leigh, adventurers extraordinaire, managed a day in their busy schedule to take the train down from Lisbon - for a relaxed lunch on board naturally!

Sadly, they didn’t get to see too much of Lagos but did manage to escape before our Cap’n pulled out the polish for a shed-load (perhaps that should be a boat load) of stainless steel needing attention.  A smart move indeed….

Now this beats driving

Lagos Marina on a lovely sunny day

Into the Jet Stream

Not much of a conversationalist...but a welcome hitchhiker

Well, we were now on a mission – Lagos or Bust!  Our trip from Stintino (Sardinia) started out well.  We had a friendly hitchhiker (a little bird) stop with us for some time and a huge whale potted about (as they do) on the edge of the continental shelf looking for a snack.  Our last eight hours turned sour though as the wind and an accompanying swell hit us - side on.  Yes, we could have changed course but the result would have been an African landing not Spanish. We were set on arriving in the Balearic Islands, so the Cap’n took charge of the slalom ride whilst GS gripped her bucket firmly.  We arrived eventually at a wonderful anchorage, Cala Taulela, (Menorca) and after removing a cuttlefish from the deck and seaweed from the head, calm was restored sufficiently to sleep soundly.   

Finding a calm & restful anchorage at Cala Taulela, Menorca

Mahon, Menorca

Town Dock & friendly Mermaid at Mahon

Next day was recovery day, so we headed off into town for a “proper” English breakfast, another of those treats we’d really been missing…  At the dock we came across a big “poser” boat.  For the technical minded, it can do 50kts but uses about 1000L per hour – we use 4L.  It also had the capacity to shoot a rooster tail 10m in the air.  Feeling most inadequate, we jumped into Bruce for a bit of coastal property speculation.  Some rather lovely homes dot Mahon bay, a tempting location where you might toy with settling– until reality and tyranny of distance hits. Oh, and lack of funds!

Window shopping along Mahon Harbour

Those mansions look quite small to me... 
You wouldn't like them, I'm sure!

We crossed from Menorca to Mallorca in almost perfect calm, heading for an initial stop at Porto Colom, another well protected anchorage.  Nosing about, looking for an anchorage we came across one of those crabby boating itinerants, who shouted at us.  Now the Cap’n just thought he was being friendly, so the GS, up at the bow, translated his Spanglish to English, much to the amusement of the anchorage.  Having circled once, the Cap’n still uncertain of the intended message circled him again.  Now, that’s really like poking a pig dog in the eye with a stick – not a good thing!  Meaning clear at last, we moved well away.

Taking the challenging route into Santa Ponsa

Our next day took us (and a whole raft of butterflies) to one of our favourite anchorages, Santa Ponsa.  Here we noted an Aussie 80” Oyster "Free Spirit", whose owner came by and said hello.  Nice!  This was only the second Aussie boat (the other, Hugo, at Le Grazie) we had seen this year.  They must all be in Greece?  We then shouted ourselves a dinner out (roast lamb, no less) to sustain ourselves for an early morning crossing to Ibiza.  San Antonio proved to be busier than we last remembered (3 years ago) and with a wind blowing into the anchorage, we upped stakes moving further into the bay.  Knowing that San An had supermarkets close at hand, and ahead of us we had at least 3 or 4 anchorages along the Spanish mainland coast, we wanted the fridge (or that part still functioning!) full. 

You can get an idea of the size of these cliffs along the coast of
Ibiza by looking for the copper coloured sailboat anchored at its foot.

San Antonio (a thoroughly wild town) & a space-age Spanish ferry

By now, the quest for Vinho Verde was driving us on. (Vinho Verde, Portugal’s green wine, or green s**t - affectionately coined I’m sure, John!)  So, with the weather in our favour and conditions much improved since leaving the Mistral behind, we started to do big steps, knowing that there were plenty of marinas at hand should we need to seek shelter.  Finally, the Rock (Gibraltar) came into sight, so we rested at La Linea Marina until the tide and winds were right to escape through the Straits (with 25kts pushing us past Tarifa) and pop back out into the Atlantic.  Ah, the Atlantic, bringing back those vague memories of tidal action and swell.  A last ditch effort brought us straight to Lagos and we tucked up into a cosy marina berth just before a rather nasty weather system arrived from the NW bringing 30+kt winds.   

Raging & serious bushfires along the Spanish Coast - the specks are planes
dropping water on the fires - there were 6 planes, all working together.

Is it a rock or a prehistoric monster
(after having a sneak peek at Medusa?)

Calm seas at night

And a few friends came to cheer us along the way

So, here we are, balanced on the very edge of Portugal, cleaning WJ3 until she sparkles and getting ready to haul out after 5 years in the Med – with our minds half wondering what next year will bring. 

(After haul out, we make for Barcelona for a few days sightseeing, so the blog will continue for a wee bit yet!)

Finding Moitessier's "Joshua" at La Linea Marina
Or is it just a copy?

We're getting close!  Early morning calm as we arrived at La Linea to dock.
Then it blew up, reaching 25kts very quickly!

“Look at Me” Fleet

Corsica to Sardinia: A foot in both worlds

Porto Vecchio

Bastia is still quite a ways up the east coast of Corsica (Cape Corse) and we had a long way to go along a coastline promising little in the way of decent anchorages until its south-east corner.  Again, it seemed most were heading north, heralding the end of August and the end of peak holiday season.  Our mission was to get to Porto Vecchio and wait for good weather to visit Bonifacio.  The Bonifacio Straits are another unpredictable wind machine, so we crossed our fingers.  Porto Vecchio was a fabulous, well-protected anchorage but we could not linger.  Besides it was Saturday and every man & his dog was out in a boat.  A race was on too; a collection of vintage craft, at least 3 gaff-rigged and certainly some timber, floated in light morning airs around the islands off the coast.  Anchorages were full of “look at me” boats, others created high wakes called “rooster tails” whilst fast ribs, full of tanned young men in speedos, went looking for bow bunnies – it was beginning to look a lot like the Amalfi Coast all over again. 

Wild landscape at Corsica's southern end

Bonifacio from the Straits

We plodded on to Bonifacio, wondering what lay ahead.  It’s quite a spectacular setting but the harbour is beyond hectic.  Still, the Cap’n took us in for a discovery run and we even noted the possibility of a med moor in a little bay (Calanque de Catena) where Odysseus’s ships were destroyed by the wild and aggressive Laestrygonians.  Now, heroic challenges came from a different quarter!  A 50’ catamaran was determined to take up the whole channel and an immense hot water boat (maybe 100’) squeezed itself onto a dock meant for something much smaller.  As GS snapped a few quick photos of this very pretty town, the Cap’n dexterously sidestepped a flotilla of craft flooding into this narrow waterway - all set on finding a berth.  

We decided enough was enough and left the chaos behind for a safer, less popular anchorage over in Sardinia.  Well, you can’t always be right – the bay was alive with nasty brown jelly-fish (no swimming) and at night the wind turned directly into the bay (no sleep).  

Cave at the entrance to Bonifacio

And the start of visible fortifications

Into Bonifacio Harbour - it looks so serene in the photo!

Fortifications and "commercial dock" for ferries

It was easy then to get up very early and make for Stintino, our launchpad for the Balearics.  A couple of Frenchies were anchored off the marina entrance there so we decided to join them.  It took a few goes to get the anchor set (sand over rock) but in the end she held.  Being Sunday, everyone was returning to their berths at the marina, and we had quite a vantage point to watch the goings on.  Eventually, the Cap’n went ashore to scout out a weather report (we’d had no internet since Bastia).  A very helpful lady at the local yacht club checked for us - still clear, with a blow (Mistral) expected in two days.  Another early start was scheduled for the next morning….

Nearing our anchorage in Capo Testa, Sardinia.  So, it's back to Italy, again!

Ridin’ the Rails....Again

Ajaccio, Corsica: In search of Napoleon

Scenic Train at Bastia Station

Rugged inland scenery (taken through dirty train windows...sigh!)

One of the reasons we chose to stop at Bastia was to take the tiny tourist train across Corsica to Ajaccio.  This narrow gauge railway was built in 1897 though has since been modernised -  an appreciated upgrade when travelling through such mountainous gradients.  We decided on the 7.52am train; thankfully the café opposite was open and we tucked into a nice selection of warm croissants - mmmm!  The ride takes you through some perfectly wild scenery although it seems that many spots are threaded by walks (to suit all skill levels).  We, however, stayed on the train.

Inventive signage.
Now we knew we were hot on the trail!

Ajaccio is known as Napoléon’s birthplace and given that his name was widely used – streets, squares, memorials and buildings we guessed that’s what we would be doing.  We had 3 hours before (the return) train departed, so it was a matter of deciding on the most important sites.  Arriving at 11.52 however, is not such a good thing.  Even as we found our way to the pedestrianised Rue Fesch, shops were beginning to close for the long Mediterranean lunch. 

Hams & Salami made from chestnut eating porkers at the local Produce Market

The Marche de Producieurs de Pays (local market) was packing up too but at least we were able to see some fresh local produce, the hams particularly splendid.  I think it has something to do with wild boar surviving in ancient chestnut groves.  (Our language skills are rather poor, particularly having just arrived from Italy, so conversation was limited!)  We’d unfortunately just had brunch too, a less than memorable experience, so sampling pies, cakes, quiches and other tasty morsels was sadly out!

Yes, that's a goat
getting a snooze in too!

Beach beside the Fort
was popular

From the markets we made a dash for the Tourist Office, hoping to find a map and some inspiration.  The recommended city walk (they were clearly used to the train day trippers) was highlighted so we bumbled around to find the Maison Bonaparte which did not open until after 1.30pm.  So it was off to see the old fort (with resident goats and donkeys & not open to the public) and a trek to the Cathedral, said to have paintings by Delacroix and Tintoretto.  Yep, closed too!  

Cathedral - also closed in Ajaccio.  Oh dear, we forgot about Med long lunches!

L'Aiglon in Place Letizia

And another rather attractive sign

On our way back to Maison Bonaparte, we passed Place Letizia where Napoléon took the opportunity to demolish houses for a small square to feature the Georgian house of his birth.  A statue of his son, L’ Aiglon (The Eaglet) stands in this green but rather unkempt area.  (We wondered vaguely how our kids would have liked being called after birds - you know - The Pelican, The Kookaburra or worse, The Emu. I digress...)  The “House” though is well patronised and contains items of interest, yet we felt it lacked a certain panache that perhaps was due to one of history’s most successful military strategists.

Maison Bonaparte Interior - a front sitting room

and Napoléon himself 

There was little time left to see the Musee Fesch.  Cardinal Fesch was Napoléon’s uncle.  He, and  brother Joseph, were the ones enabling Napoléon to purchase the entire house for his family.  In 1799, Napoleon stopped off on his way home from Egypt for a very brief visit to see the house, but was never to return.  The grand Musee (or Palais) Fesch is said to contain France’s most important collection of Italian paintings outside the Louvre.  The train left in 30 mins and we knew it was going to be a struggle to get seats for the long trip back, so instead of the Musee, we purposefully strode down to the station.

Luckily, the Cap’n used his skills (learned in India?) to push ahead and found us seats on this two carriage train - it was too long a journey to stand for 4 hours.  The trip back was just as enjoyable though, the scenery quite splendid with wild empty mountains, thick pine forests and tiny, remote villages promising “very quiet holidays”.  The train stopped at 40, mostly rural, villages along this route - it makes for a very long day! 

Remote village along the rail line

& another very quiet station too.

As a post script, it is worth noting that Dorothy Carrington, an eminent author, also lived in Ajaccio.  She used her time to investigate history and ethnography of this once wild and isolated island (I’m guessing well before any tourist boom) documenting her findings into compelling travel books.  I was lucky to lay my hands on a copy of “The Dream Hunters of Corsica” a 1999 published study of occult practices peculiar to the island that date back, certainly well before Christian times.  Her contribution to recording a practice so easily lost is exceptional.  She also wrote about Napoléon; “Napoléon and his Parents on the Threshold of History” if you’re keen to follow up on his history.  For those interested in Art facts, Dorothy Carrington was married for a time (1942-1966) to painter, Sir Francis Rose.

No Sleigh Ride

Corsica, France

We did an early morning run through the narrow passage at Porto Venere

Then waved farewell to Italy & the lovely little church on the rock

Leaving Le Grazie, we stepped out into a bit of a swell (Mistral generated) which we thought we had a handle on until it came to us that we were skidding and skipping to a NW swell meeting a SE swell.  Interesting & very strange!  Our voyage was cheered along by a lone dolphin, quite old and large, who popped by briefly.  

So, continuing to dance our way across to Corsica, we finally came to rest at Macinaggio, where we hoped the anchorage would give us refuge for the night.  The anchor was hardly wet before a rib, with 6 men-in-black (never too many, GS says!) requested permission to board.  We could hardly say no, it was after all the French coast guard and we were the only non-EU boat in the bay.  The last time we had met them was in St Barts (Caribbean) when they couldn’t wait to search Boy Wonder’s cabin…hee hee hee!  Anyway, here in Corsica, we passed muster, had a nice chat and encouraged them to apply for a job in Guadeloupe.  Another day, another dance!

These were the colours of first light that greeted us

Followed by stunning views as we motored down Corsica's east coast

Next morning we left early; even so, we were last to leave the anchorage.  A nasty swell had kicked in overnight and even the Cap’n was pleased to leave.  Sad really, as the water was so clear and the cape so wild, it reminded us of our time in the Caribbean.  Most used the wind to head north (perhaps to France) but not us; we had plans to stay at a marina in Bastia.  By now, we’ve discovered that calling ahead for a berth in peak season means there will always be a “no vacancy”, so now we boldly enter, tie up to a “reception” dock, visit the office, then smile and hope for the best.  It's worked well for us, so far!

Vieux Port, Bastia

We enjoyed our stay at Port de Toga.  Aside from the vast supermarket opposite with rows and rows of wine, we found a Thai food takeaway and even a roast chicken pop-up shop - of all things.  We skipped sushi at €35 per tray but relished the opportunity to tuck into foods we'd not had for years.  The Cap’n took the time for a sexy French haircut then we visited the old downtown precinct before having lunch at Vieux Port – loads of mussels in creamy onion sauce as only the French can do.  We also learned that Bruce is a “bateau pneumatique” (said: bat tow new mat eek!) and GS scared the locals when she inadvertently used the men’s showers at the marina.  Such girls!  Since when have the French been so modest!   

Ahhh!  We began to feel almost human.....

This large church was closed but had an interesting
structure (unfortunately not enhanced by some most
unattractive modern additions)

It also came with interesting graffiti...

with humour as only the French could have