Donde esta quaint Spain?
29 June 2008 | South of Spain
First mate Ziggy MacKenzie
Donde esta quaint Spain?
(Spoiler Alert - the following email recounts a day in Spain from a very jaded sailor's point of view. This view is only temporary and would typically be told over a drink in a bar, but with respect of distance and time, shall be written. Do not feel this is the permanent state of mind of the entire crew, but just a 30 minute catty moment. If you wish to retain the image of a blissful sailboat sailing along the coast of the Med, do not read further)
Do you recall sailing rule #1? Quick refresh: never sail on a schedule. Well, we are and we are not. We know we have to be in Barcelona on July 12 to meet family, so in preparation and with 16 days ahead of us to cover 700 miles, we checked weather and drew up a straw dog schedule that meant that for 1 day we would sail dead into the easterly around the tip of Gib. To make it manageable, we choose a very close destination, Marbella, just 40 miles along the coast. We set sail at 7am, with the kids still asleep and ventured off. I was prepared with Gravol in my pocket for easy access but none was needed as the seas were calm and the winds very, very light. By 1ish we entered the port of Marbella, tied up at the registration dock and inquired about space. None, we were told, none, it is all for private owners. John and I looked at each other and made the decision, that we would go back along the coast for 6 miles to the town of Puerto Banus, THE upscale marina in Spain. We had heard lots and read more, but nothing prepared us for our 24 hours in Banus, about 22 hours too many.
I have to admit, it was I who had wanted to see it. As Spain's answer to the Cote d'Azur, it is filled with mega yachts and upscale retailers - YSL, Gucci, Chanel, Jimmy Choo. As we entered, the lack of masts should have been our first clue that this 900 berth marina wasn't quite a sailor's haven.
Once again, we tied along the gas dock and inquired about space. In the shadow of Lady Haya, a 130ft mega yacht, we walked to the registration building housed in an old watch tower which are sprinkled along the coast (in the earlier days, these we used as a way for the towns to alert each other of danger. The first town to spot danger would light their tower, and like a torch relay, each neighbouring town light their tower all along the coast. Today, they are decorative or converted to other use; in the case of Puerto Banus, the registration desk.) As we entered the building, the sliding glass doors parted, our second clue that we were not in a quaint town. Getting a berth for a catamaran can be difficult as our width requires that we occupy two berths, and Mediteranean marinas mostly have stern-to mooring (sort of like backing up into a parking lot intentionally leaving no space between cars and then all getting out through the trunk). There is no dock between boats and once tied to the dock, you attach a bow line to either a supplied mooring buoy or you anchor. To prevent knocking your door on the car beside you, you place your fenders on either side from scratching each other.
At registration we were informed that, yes there was space in a 50m slot for a mere 689 Euros a night!!!! That was without internet, no room service and supplying our own air conditioning. I instinctively raised my hand to my throat so they could not see me gulp in shock. John, turned casually and asked if there was anything else. Well lo and behold, they found us 2 berths side by side for 88EU. We had set ourselves a 100EU limit and nodded we would take it. As we motored to the fourth pier to find berths 325 and 326, we noticed our third clue that we weren't in Kansas anymore - Hummers and BMWs parked along the piers so the owners could drive up directly to their boats without having to shlep their goods.
John backed us in stern-to in what I considered to be a feet of docking wonder assisted by the marina dock boy, clue four that this wasn't your typical marina. Wedged securely between two other sail boats (I think the only 3 in the entire marina), we then faced the challenge of "how to get off the boat". In Med mooring, you always ensure you are moored far enough off the pier to prevent yourself from riding up against the cement in case of surge, which leaves a 6 foot gap between boat and dock. All the power boats have built-in gang ways that automatically extend from their sterns. We, well we didn't have such a thing, but we do have this really ugly old windsurfer lashed to our port deck that makes the greatest gangway.
Into the town we ventured avoiding all the boutiques and finding ourselves in an outdoor market selling wares from Africa and India. As the kids played on bungy-trampolines, I wandered the market while John wandered about, laptop in hand searching for wireless. We split up, with John off to the local internet caf� and the kids and I wandering the streets agreeing to meet up in an hour for a bite to eat. Purchasing nothing, we seated ourselves in a local restaurant and began, what could only be described as perfect people watching. The rich, the super rich, the wanna be's, the drunken English, the Russian mafia - all for the taking. Two beaches on either side of the marina provided non-stop 'post beach, still in bathing suits' sauntering. Some folks just shouldn't be allowed to parade in little attire, while others, proved that there are actually perfect bodies and then others proved that plastic surgery and steroids can help get a perfect body, or if not, a perfect job at the many 'gentlemen's clubs' located in the lane behind the mainstreet.
Puerto Banus, in turns out, is home to thousands of drunk English vacationing on either stags, stagettes or girls' shopping weekends. Like a mini Vegas, I felt we were stuck in a Nouveau Rich, Drunken Tourist themed hotel. Countless times, we overheard drunk English girls chatting on their cells, "We're heading back to the hotel, too pissed to shop". We headed back to the boat, too sick of the crowds to people watch. We cooled off in the air conditioning of Windancer and then, went back into the town, for the one highlight - the Euro 2008 finale between Spain and Germany. Connor proudly wore his Germany t-shirt amongst the crowds and bore the ribbing as Spain defeated Germany 1-0.
As the crowds celebrated, the super rich left their super yachts to drive their super expensive cars up the main drag. Lamborghinis, Ferraris, Porsches, Bentleys, Hummers slowly made it along the streets only to part at the other end closer to the clubs. We made our way back down the pier crossed our windsurfer gangway into our catamaran. I was too happy to return to our home away from home. When I thought of the Med, I had envisioned quaint little Spanish towns with bodegas and tapas and sangria in tiny cobbled streets only to discover that the quaint towns have been replaced with tourist-laden, overpriced, overcrowded bars and shops. The quaintest place I know is Windancer IV where I can guarantee mi casa is su casa.
Appendix - What to Pack if Coming to Puerto Banus
Women
Bikini
Sarong
Numerous 4 inch heels
Too much make up
Cell phone
Skin Tight Tanks and Dresses
Mini skirts
Short Shorts
Men
Wallet
What Not to Bring
Garbage Bags (why bother to pick up your dog's poop; when if you wait a few moments, someone in their Gucci loafers can flatten it out; or if you have brought some, give them to the power boaters who can toss them overboard with the rest of their garbage)
One piece bathing suits or bikini tops as they are optional on most beaches
Your parents, as you would never want them to see you behave this way