Birvidik

We've been hammering along to try to make up for lost time - well as far as one can hammer when one's top speed compares unfavourably with a reasonably fit cyclist.

We fuelled up in Gib (diesel being one of the few things that's cheap there). We motored as there was little wind and got to our destination, Estepona by 1 o'clock, so we decided to go on to Bajadilla, where we arrived about three. We followed the instructions in the pilot and moored up to the waiting berth, whence we were supposed to walk to the office and clear in.

Unfortunately, the waiting/fuel quay was locked, bolted and barred so it was impossible to actually get ashore and complete the formalities. A tiny notice informed us that it was only open on Mondays and Thursdays. As we had arrived on a Friday this meant a long wait before we would be allocated a berth, so we cast off and went on to Fuengirola, where we arrived just after 5 to find:

a) The office had just closed and
b) Heather and Keith on Arcadia. We thought they'd be halfway down the Red Sea by now.

Bob called up the Marinheiro on the VHF to see if we could stay in the berth we had wriggled into. "Blimey" he thought, "This is a clear signal."

"Idiot", said Liz - "he's on the pontoon next to the boat, you can hear him without the radio".

One night in Fuengirola and a catch-up with Keith and Heather and then we were off the next day to Motril, where we were informed by the pilot that there was a secure anchorage in the outer harbour.

It was an attractive run, with mountains in the background and numerous settlements along the coast. The snow-covered Sierra Nevada lies behind both. The spell was broken on arrival in Motril where the idyllic anchorage in the outer harbour had been converted into what appeared to be a container terminal. We called up the local Club Nautico and were given a berth for the night. 49 bloody Euros! We didn't really need electricity and water but we took them anyway - for that money we'll take everything we can.

We left Motril early the next morning, intending to pack in a few miles and make it closer to the Balearics. Plans were thwarted about half an hour out, when there was a thundering great banging sound from the transmission and vibrations thrumming through the boat. Having put the engine in neutral we found we'd caught about 80 metres of thick rope round the propeller and rudder. Bursts astern having failed to shake it free, it became apparent that someone (i.e. Bob) was going to have to dive on it to free it.

Compounding the problem was the fact that we were in 30 metres of water, on a lee shore, with about a metre and a half of sloppy swell. We dropped the anchor and put out all 60 metres of chain, hoping this would stop us being driven on to the shore, which luckily it did.

The physiological effects of the winter lay-off became apparent when Bob tried to squeeze into his wetsuit, a feat he finally accomplished after much squealing, grunting and swearing. In he went off the stern, to find the rope had knotted itself in a big ball round the prop and shaft and, just to add to the fun, the water was full of jellyfish.

After 40 minutes of wriggling around underwater and having the boat jump up and down and bang him on the head, shoulders and arms, he managed to free the rope. Bruised, stung but triumphant he brought it to the surface. Then he had to go for a shower to warm up while Liz assumed command and hammered off towards Almerimar.

The coast along here is very different. There are still the mountains in the background, but the lower slopes are all covered in plastic. Apparently any area suitable for hydroponics is covered and this part of Spain supplied the majority of Europe's vegetables.

As we approached Almerimar, we called the marina on the VHF, using our newly acquired Spanish (all 28 words of it). This gentle enquiry (Buenas Tardes, Puetro de Almerimar. Tiene un amarradero para nosotros? - el barco tiene doce metros.) was met with a wall of rapid fire fractured Spanish which meant absolutely nothing to either of us. We managed to latch on to the one word 'marinheiro' and blithely took this to mean that we would be met by one and shown where to berth.

It did too.
Eventually.

We seem to be on a roll for catching up with/overtaking people as Almerimar has a fair number of boats that wintered in Lagos and left before us, Dawn Chaser, Matador and Roamer for a start. We're all now waiting for a weather window (aren't we always) so we can round the notorious Cabo de Gata and head on up to Alicante and the Balearics. There always seems to be a notorious Cape Somethingorother wherever we are.

We've now been here for 3 days and that's about enough. The marina is really cheap (8 euros a night), the staff are brilliant and there are good facilities but - how can I explain this? All those from Sheppey will understand - it's like out of season Leysdown in the 1950s.

Tomorrow (Thursday 24th) we're due to leave early and head up the coast. There's a long stretch with few harbours (and those that there are seem to be very expensive) so we'll be anchoring for a few nights.

Next report will probably be from Cartagena (Spain, not Columbia).