Today we were welcomed on the Ile d'Arz, where we were swept by a 3 kn tide. We all anchored in the bay and were fed paella while some reasonably dodgy bagpipe and accordion music filled the air. We met the Commodore of the Welsh flotilla of which we are a part, except that we haven't managed to find a Welsh courtesy flag, took a delightful walk through the village, and looked out in astonishment at a bay filled with a hundred or so wooden lovelies. The pic shows a row of dinghies pulled up on the beach, but then we had to tack back through the narrow channels, avoiding the rocks and shallows that cause one grief. When I broke out the tin whistle later that evening, an eccentric Frenchman in the next boat broke out some spoons to accompany me. I complimented him on the spoons, and he merely shrugged and said that they were the wrong spoons and he'd left his best ones at home