Author: Trip von Hoffmann (Page 1 of 3)

It had been a tiring passage, and we knew officials for the boat and passport wouldn’t be open till Monday, so we stayed in the anchorage north of the town. Saturday we had it all to ourselves, but the winds shifted on Sunday and we were inundated by day trippers on boats. After all that isolation, it was fun to have company again, which included Tim and Lisa, a Canadian couple on holiday who came by in a rented power boat. They invited us ashore to their hotel for drinks, but the dinghy outboard died, so we postponed those plans.

Monday we moved to the town anchorage. It was a 20 minute row into town (outboard still dead), but luckily Trip rows well and the dinghy is designed for it.

Sardinia is absolutely beautiful, but the bureaucracy is insane. Our trip to the Guardian Costiera was a comedy of errors. We talked to five people, whose job it is to clear in boaters like us, but seemed to not know what was going on. I had to ask three times for the ‘constituto’ (boat papers issued by local harbors when traveling in Italy) before it occurred to them to process the paperwork. They told us where the immigration offices were, but insisted they were not allowed to call to check the hours. Of course, we arrived an hour after those offices closed and they are only open 9-12 Mon/Wed/Fri, and we got there at 1pm Monday!

We were hungry and thirsty at this point, so we picked the first decently priced restaurant we could find, and what a pleasant surprise. Trip had a burrata cured ham tomato pizza, and I discovered culurgionis; a local Sardinian pasta where ravioli meets pierogi with a mashed potato and mint filling.

We ran errands for the rest of the afternoon, and then met up with Tim and Lisa for dinner. Sardinians are fiercely proud of their food and wine, and deservedly so. We sampled everything from local Prosecco, smoked fish, beer, wine (canannou grape), veggies, pasta, dessert, and mirto (a digestif). All of it scrumptious, even my overcooked steak in a blue cheese sauce.

Trip spent all day Tuesday fixing the outboard, but it works again! We went into town to drop off a propane tank for refill, get some groceries, and have a tapas dinner at a little corner restaurant. Wednesday was a lesson in frustration. The Coast Guard cleared us out easy enough, but it took a lot of convincing for Trip to get the Immigration officer to stamp our passports, as they insisted we didn’t need to because we were still in the Schengen zone (we want clear stamps indicating entry and exit – we’re counting our allowed days carefully!). Then we found out the propane tank couldn’t be filled, so it was lugging the empty back to the boat. Now it was afternoon, and we had a 38 nautical mile run north. The winds weren’t as cooperative as we would have liked, but we had a great sail tacking back and forth before we settled into a slog of a motorsail north. The passage into our anchorage was not the best to do at night, but the electronic charts brought us in smoothly and safely and we dropped anchor that night.

It’s 200 miles from Menorca to Sardinia. A two day sail for us. We studied the weather apps and made a plan. Days of winds from the south were now shifting as a mistral (famous brisk north wind from France) was developing. We wanted to take advantage of the wind as it developed, without getting caught in the big stuff.

We were doing 6+ knots easily the first day, with a double reefed main and half a jib. We had set the wind vane, so the boat was essentially steering itself, and using no electricity. The first 24 hours were some of the best sailing all season.

The night sky was absolutely spectacular. I had been resting in the cockpit, lying on my back, and opened my eyes to take it all in. All of a sudden I was distracted by what looked like a chain of 20 lights moving across the night sky. Luckily I got Trip’s attention and he saw it too (he’s always teasing me of seeing cool things and not telling him). Other than a really slow UFO, we had no idea. I later googled it and found out that it’s one of many StarLink satellite chains.

Then the seas grew. Two meters (6 feet) is generally not that big of a deal, but they were only 5 seconds apart. You generally want twice the interval in time to the height – we had a one-to-one. The boat plowed through the swell easily enough, but the wind vane had a hard time because the sails were not balanced and it was a bit bouncy to be going forward unless absolutely necessary. Trip decided to hand steer and muscled his way through several hours. We were finally getting closer, and could change course and set the auto pilot (wind vane bungee had snapped, and the repair would have to be done in calmer conditions).

The next challenge : Finding a place to anchor in the dark. Italy is like Spain in that they have huge colonies of the sea grass posodonia which needs to be protected, which means you can only anchor in sand. Easy enough to do at noon with full sun, not so easy at 1 AM. We had done so well with speed that we were now arriving in the middle of the night instead of early morning. As soon as we had cell phone coverage (whew, the Spanish SIM card was still good in Italy), we started studying the anchorage apps for options, and then comparing them to google maps, whose aerial shots do an amazing job of showing sand. We picked a no-brainer anchorage, motored to about 20 feet of depth, confirmed with google maps that we were in sand, and dropped the hook. I use a headlamp when anchoring at night, and very quickly realized that with the night sky (sliver of a moon but very bright) and the crystal clear waters, that, even at that hour, I could see the anchor and chain! Every inch of the boat was covered in salt, several blankets and shirts were soaked from the sporty sail, but we were in Italy!

With a few days of winds from the south, we weren’t going to be able to sail to Mahon (also known as Mao by the Catalans who make up a big presence on the island). We opted to take the bus instead.

We had intended on clearing out of Mahon (Spain) before going to Sardinia (Italy). Technically you don’t need to, as we would be moving from one Schengen EU country to another. However, by clearing out, we buy a few more days on our Schengen clock (90 total in any 180 day period). As usual, we went to the wrong office first, but were quickly pointed in the right direction, and after a little bit of waiting got our passports stamped and boat papers signed.

I wish I had had more energy to walk around town as it was a very charming place. But it was sooooooo hot and humid and I was melting. We had time for lunch in the shade, a bit of a wander, and then coffee and ice cream before catching the bus back to Fornells.

Trip wasn’t ready to move on yet, but our Schengen clock is ticking….we have 64 days to enjoy the Balaerics, Sardinia, and Sicily before we have to get out of EU waters. So off to Ibiza it was. Despite light winds (well under 10 knots), we had a glorious sail up to the island.

Ibiza has a reputation as the summer party capital of the world. We’re still a few weeks away from high season, but it’s gearing up hard and fast. We would never be able to afford a berth in a marina here, but there is a lovely cove around the corner. It you can find a bit of sand amongst the posidonia sea grass, you’re only a short dinghy ride, short walk, and a ferry trip across the harbor to the old town.

Upon first glance, I thought I was back in Tangiers. Fortresses plus dilapidated but charmingly crowded old white buildings. Then again, that pretty much describes everywhere in Europe with a good natural defense location that was inhabited by the Phoenicians, Carthaginians, Romans, Moors, etc. And Ibiza has had its share.

We had dinner at a restaurant outside of the crowded tourist zones featuring basque (northern Spain) cuisine that was so satisfying. We then spent the rest of the evening wandering around town. We spent most of our time up in the old town along the walls of the fortress. However, there is nothing I love more than people-watching and this is the place to do it. Ibiza is a place to see and be seen. Vacations are carefully planned and budgeted, it can be crazy expensive to come here. Outfits are very carefully planned as well – you have to look carefree and bohemian but in a chic expensive way. This is one of those places where you can never be too rich, thin, or young. The music is thumping from a DJ at an outdoor stage by 7 pm and apparently it goes till the wee hours of the morning. None of this describes much of anything we usually enjoy, but this town also oozes a charm that I never expected. Such a delight!

Welcome to the Balearics! The overnight run from Cartegena only got us 5 hours of sailing (wind coming exactly from the direction we were heading when there was wind), but they were fabulous hours and the wind vane worked perfectly. Once again, like the last anchorage before Cartegena, we found ourselves racing to drop anchor in a completely new spot at 10 pm with the last shreds of daylight.

We dropped the hook on a Friday night, knowing that Formentera comes to life on the weekends. Sure enough, at 10 am, the party boats came pouring over from Ibiza, with jet skis and a lot of loud music. Interestingly, everywhere we go in Europe, all the music is American stuff from the 80s and 90s, hmmmmm. I’m not complaining, but Trip is sick of ABBA.

Since we were on the outer edge of the anchorage, we got all the monster yachts anchored around us.

We had our first dragging incident of the season, with the lovely Lady Ann drifting slowly past us. Unlike most situations, it was not an emergency (no high winds), Lars, the owner, was onboard and could see what was happening. They never got close to us or caught our chain. They moved and reset cleanly, and later came over by dinghy to chat. Lars was kind enough to give us lots of information about Ibiza, where we were headed next.

We headed in to shore in the afternoon, enjoyed a beer at one of the local bars, and then took a walk along the cliff tops.

Once we were back on board, Trip went for a swim and I finally broke out my new (to me) inflatable paddle board. The board is small and light, and the anchorage was a bit rocky with boat wakes, so I stuck to paddling on my knees, but the goal is to get up onto my feet soon!

We finally had another decent weather window, and it was 65 miles to Cartagena, so it was time to move on. Of course we were motoring to start (the wind wouldn’t kick in till afternoon), and of course I jinxed us when I asked Trip about a friend’s situation with crud in their fuel tanks. Our engine sputtered and died an hour later, most likely from all the huge swell we had passed through that probably stirred up crud on the bottom of the tank. Luckily Trip was able to clear the sludge out of the bowl, change the element, and I was able maintain a few knots under jib.

We knew we wouldn’t get to Cartagena till dark, so we found another anchorage for the evening by studying the charts. This time we picked Cala Salitrona, just north of Cabo Tinoso in the La Azohia region. We didn’t drop anchor till the last bits of daylight were fading, and we were the only boat in the anchorage, but we could tell it was amazing.

We woke up in the morning surrounded by mountains, and fortress after fortress in the hills. If we had had more time, we would have stayed a day or two and hiked, but it was time to move on.

It took three hours to clear out of Morocco, despite the fact that we had notified the office and customs the day before. Three hours of sitting around, but at least we were prepared, as the tide would not turn in our favor till early afternoon. We had no orcas, (perhaps the little orca friend Barb Voss made for us gave us just the right amount of luck in avoiding them), but we had lots of dolphins. More exciting, we had a right whale swimming right along side of us for several minutes smack dab in the middle of the Strait of Gibraltar! (Luckily there were no big ships around at the time). Then he dove, showing us his tail! For several hours we had a huge amount of swell, and rain, but the current was pushing us in the right direction, so we carried on, with a healthy puke or two over the side every few hours from Trip. The winds finally turned favorable, and we decided on an overnight sail. The wind didn’t last long, and we were on to motor sailing, but we slogged along.

We decided on two days of overnights when the winds turned favorable for sailing again. A few minutes of consultation, we killed the engine and ran wing on wing for another overnight and a new destination. The winds died again around 3 AM (actually died around 1:30, but I was happy enough to drift along at 1.5 knots to let Trip sleep), and we motored again.

We needed an anchorage that would protect us from the Levante, the east- northeast wind that blows periodically – in this case two days. Cala de San Pedro looked like a good spot, and we arrived mid-day to find ourselves as the only boat and we dropped the hook.

The first thing I noticed was that all the locals came down to swim and sunbathe, totally nude, mid afternoon. We had read that it was a community of hippies. What we learned from two young men, Ayssa and Jonas, who swam over to the boat to say hello, was that the harbor is inaccessible, other than by boat or a 90 minute cliff walk to the nearest village. There is a stream that provides running fresh water, but people otherwise live in caves (the young men were cave-sitting for a friend), in ancient ruins, or in tarps or tents.

When we went ashore wet met a few of the locals who were so proud to tell us the history of the island (a pirate hide out), complete with castle ruins. The area had fallen into a very bad state with drug paraphernalia everywhere, but slowly a small group of hippies cleaned it up and reclaimed the area. Fixing up caves and ruins with driftwood, stuff hauled in, & solar panels, it is home to ~20 people year round, with another ~20 that come to camp for the season. They describe themselves as castaways from society, choosing to live in this small isolated community.

We climbed a bit to explore, and then headed to the bar, because of course there was a bar. For 10€, we had two beers apiece, and a bag of potato chips. We were also offered our choice of kittens and a young pup, new additions to the bar. A goat had chewed free of its tether, we could have probably taken that too.

Unfortunately we only had that one day ashore. The next two days brought some pretty strong wings from the northeast, so we were stuck on board. A few other boats came in to anchor for protection. One boat actually dinghied ashore, and then almost couldn’t get back. The swell was so bad it took them quite a while (with a small child!) to get aboard. Their boat was rolling badly where they were, so they upped anchor and moved behind us for a better position, only to find that their dinghy had flipped (with the electric outboard still attached), yikes!

A fellow friend on the dock complained just the other day: “why bother making all these new friends when you know you’re never going to see them again?” It’s true, there’s quite a few new friends we’ve made that we won’t see again, so why do we do it?

Friendships amongst cruisers tend to be fast and intense. It often starts with a nod and smile on the dock or a wave in the anchorage. You notice someone that needs help and you have just the right tool or at least a hand to lend. You start talking and find that you share a common lifestyle that many others don’t understand. You’ve had some of the same hardships and many of the same life pleasures.

And amidst all this we are so different. We’re from different countries: Sweden, Denmark, Netherlands, Germany, Portugal, Britain, France, even Russia and the US. We’re different ages: Our group of friends this season ranged from age 13 to 88. We’ve had different life experiences; from sailing with a family, to losing a loved one, newbies in the cruising community or those who have done it for decades. We have a myriad of health issues that have taught us adaptability.

And we learn from one another. We share stories and emotions. We’re there to lend an ear when someone needs to vent, or whatever else we can do to help. Tools and technical advice are certainly free-flowing. We share travel advice from the places we’ve been to those who haven’t gone yet. We share a glass or two of wine and learn about one another. In this day and age of divisiveness we come together as new friends. And maybe we won’t see many down the road. But we will see some. And we will stay in touch. Because these are the people who have touched us so.

After an overwhelming goodbye from our friends at the marina, we cast off the lines and eased our way out of the slip. (With an old heavy boat and small engine, we hate navigating around marinas, but Trip was master of the wheel.).

We had cleared out earlier in the day with Immigration, so we have a stamp in our passport that shows we’ve officially left Portugal. This is important to note, as Americans can only spend 90 days (in a rolling 180 day period) in most of Europe. We are allowed to transit, which is what we’re doing now. We’re just 7 miles east of Lagos in Portimao. We’re at anchor, and will not go ashore. We’ll hop down the coast this way, till the weather is good enough for us to cross the Strait of Gibraltar and enter Morocco via Tangiers. The time we spend in transit, and the time we spend in Africa will not count against our Schengen days (named after the city where the border treaty was signed). And thus begins the 2023 Schengen Shuffle!

Update: there are only 12 boats or so in this anchorage and 3 of them are Tayana 37’s! I posted this entertaining fact on Bob Perry’s FaceBook fan page (he’s the designer of the T37) and he nominated me as an ambassador to boost his fan page membership….😁

Despite all our work last fall, there were still new things that came up this spring. Some were small, like going up the backstay and re-doing the bracket for the man overboard pole. Others were a bit more significant, such as reattaching the transmission cable (so glad Trip had suggested firing up the engine just to test things out in the slip!). Then there was the frozen pull on the dinghy outboard (glad Trip likes to row). We’re ignoring the problems with the slow toilet till we run out of other things to solve and will then delve into that mess.

And we’re already thinking ahead to later this season. Med-style mooring involves backing into a slip. There are usually no finger pontoons (the little docks that run the partial length of the boat). We can’t back in due to the amount of hardware hanging off our stern: Low slung davits for the dinghy, and the wind vane block any means of us getting off or on the boat from the stern, so that leaves the bow. Our bowsprit rides pretty high (shoulder height I would say), so it’s not a matter of simply climbing up. Friends who have already sailed the Nordic countries with a boat that has similar issues showed us their folding stainless steel ladder – they can even climb aboard with their dog! For now we’ve created something by hanging a temporary boarding ladder off the bowsprit with the help of a step stool on the dock. It’s been pointed out that once we get into the Med we’ll see more chandleries equipped with these boarding tools to make our lives easier, and by the end of the season we’ll have it figured out.