Catania, Italy to Mallorca Spain, August
06 September 2009
Log reading 6,688 nautical miles
Norman Castle at Cefalu, Sicily
Catania to Porto Palo, on the south eastern tip of Sicily, was a reasonable run with the Genoa to assist the motor. The weather forecasts were for storms north of us and we saw lightening and dark clouds. A few drops of rain for us but nothing more.
At Porto Palo the sun was low, the anchor was in and Fandango was gradually taking up the chain as we drifted back. Standing on the foredeck and looking down, the shape of a wrecked fishing boat suddenly appeared through the murky water just to our side and leaving insufficient clearance. It looked really spooky but there was no time to gaze. The anchor came up in a flash and we tiptoed to another spot.
It was decided to say farewell to Italy by drinking more wine than normal from our cellar, carefully selected by Attila who, with Urs, cooked a tasty meal. In reasonable shape the next morning, we set out for Malta and even sailed for a while without the engine. On the way, a pigeon circled the boat and landed on the bimini for a rest. It left a calling card and then flew off to Italy, probably not realising that we had been sailing away from Italy and it would have to make up the extra miles.
That afternoon saw us at San Niklaw on Comino Island, Malta. There are not many anchorages and this one was crowded. It also had jelly fish and Urs was stung. With a mask you can at least see and avoid them. Nothing interesting ashore so we ate on board again. Attila and Urs are very accomplished in the galley. Attila has his own crepe pan and yes, they were delicious. Theo would have been impressed.
A two hour trip to Valletta and wow, what an impressive group of heavily fortified harbours. No room at the Grand Harbour marina, so we picked up a vacant mooring in a spot nearby which had more breeze and did we need it. We took an open-top bus ride round half of the island and saw many old buildings, often with fascinating doors and doorways. We were told that there weren't many tourists because they avoided the hotter months like the one we were in. Malta had an odd feel about it, as if it had closed shop after the British left.
We dined both nights at an outdoor restaurant at the foot of a fort near the boat. A small docking area and a series of archways made it magic. The ambiance was Knights of St John and rule Britannia. I imagined Hornblower stepping on to the quay and asking for rum.
Adrian flew back to the UK and we had some overnight trips to do, the first leg was to Lampedusa. It was disappointing for a nature reserve, however, we did find some pleasant snorkelling with small numbers of three types of fish. One of these had what appeared to be folding wings and sat on the bottom pretending not to be there. On route later we saw hundreds of "compass" jellyfish sliding past the boat.
The second leg was to Pantelleria and it was also disappointing. The third was to Tunis. A calm sea again meant that we were doing a lot of motoring. Pollution and azure water welcomed us to Sidi Bou Said marina just outside Tunis and near the President's Palace. His photograph was absolutely everywhere. The French legacy made it easier to communicate but harder to get things done on time, just like Les Sables d'Olonne.
Old Carthage, close to Tunis, had a lot to offer but we had the usual hassle with taxi drivers which reduced the number of places we managed to see. Impressive was the old king's palace, now museum, with Moorish ceiling embellishments which reminded me of the Alhambra.
The medina was fascinating and we explored a bit off the tourist lanes and walked up to the roof tops for good views. We decided to follow up on a recommendation and eat posh that night in the medina. There were no signs outside the huge ancient wooden door studded with iron at 5-10 Rue Dar El Jeld, La Kasbah. The door opened immediately upon knocking and Attila, Urs and I were each handed a small bound posy of scented buds. We were escorted through rooms with antiques and sat down for drinks whilst our table was prepared. The staff, immaculately dressed in an east meets west conservative style, completed the Hercule Poirot setting. I returned to this century just as the maitre d' arrived and wished to inform us that our table was ready.
We were escorted to our table through an impressive doorway into a series of tiled rooms hung with chandeliers worth six figures each. Well, the others were escorted, I was discretely whisked away to another chamber. In tropical north Queensland, eating posh means tucking your clean polo shirt into your shorts. Sacre blue, not here mate! I was kitted out in a full length white embroidered gown to cover my shorts (the others wore trousers) and only then escorted to our table.
Not wanting to let the side down, I did my best impression of Lawrence of Arabia and held my gown as I had seen others do and slowly flowed past the tables to where the others were seated. Gracious smiles were exchanged with other patrons as I tried to look normal. I must admit I got a buzz out of it. The comfortable chairs had padded arms and the food was excellent. The walls and floors were tiled in a similar style to that of the palace visited earlier and the ambiance elevated by a musician playing what I presumed was traditional music on a strange stringed instrument. It was an excellent evening and on our way out our hands and arms were sprinkled with rose water. The huge heavy door closed behind us and so did a portal to another world.
Back at the marina, the laundry index hit a new high with 8kg costing over AUD60. The internet place wanted to close just after I had started and promised they would turn it on for me the next morning. No chance. Peut-etre après midi? Too late we were gone.
We stopped to top up fuel in Bizerte where they did the hose trick and tried to overcharge. However the fuel was at least cheaper than in the EU. Customs and immigration nearly gave us a hard time because we had been cleared out at Tunis and therefore had to re-enter again to get the fuel. A few smiles and the fact that we were preventing other boats from refuelling sped the process up to one form only partly completed. We should have done this again for our next stop at Galite but we took a chance that there would be nobody about and we were right.
Isle de la Galite, off Tunisia. What a big name for such a small place with a bay surrounded by hills. Very imposing and some shelter from the strengthening winds. From here the next morning we set out for a 48 hour trip to Menorca. Urs, an ex professional chef, assisted by Attila made meal times look easy from a small galley.
Some sailing but mostly motoring brought us to Cala Binibeca in Menorca, a pleasant bay with nothing much to offer. Weather was brewing north of Menorca so we kept south and reached the old capital of Puerto Ciudadela, which we enjoyed although nothing exceptional. The next day we set out for Mallorca to escape the force 8 coming down from the north. We had some lively sailing with a four to five metre swell and a few big rogue waves amongst it.
The majestic cliffs of northern Mallorca loomed up against a cloudy backdrop and we found shelter in Cala Murta, a beautiful high sided small bay. We saw wild goats and enjoyed the panorama of huge craggy rocks dotted with trees similar to a Japanese painting. Next Cala de la Calobra with its rock tunnel and then on to Puerto de Soller, where we took the tramway to the old town but decided to move on. That night found us at Peninsula de la Foradada. The NW coast has some magnificent cliffs but this place took the cake. Our spot was once used by an Austrian duke to moor his yacht and no wonder.
Back to the big smoke but first a night at Cala Portals, with its caves, just south of Palma at the mouth of the bay. Heaps of boats but by dusk the number had reduced to us and two others.
The smell of Palma invaded our noses and the pollution haze spoilt the view. We took a berth in the RCNP marina as we had done last year. Charges were higher but the wifi was still not working in the marina area. That night up in the old town main plaza the six or so restaurants were almost empty all evening. It was hard to believe after the number of people I saw there last year. Our waiter confirmed that this year had been a very bad one for those that survive on tourists. Before leaving Palma, I revisited the cathedral and marvelled again at the intricate masonry.
Attila and Urs left and Danny joined Fandango for the next leg to Benalmadeena and my confrontation with Jeanneau.