Episode 4: Marmax leaves the Balearic Islands for Gibraltar

Hola Everyone!

The last time I was writing this blog, we were in the beautiful Port of Pollensa and I was holed up in the marina laundromat where the Yacht Club wifi seemed to be at its strongest.

Today, I am tapping out a Word Doc in a sunny cockpit, on a very glassy, deep blue Mediterranean Sea, travelling alongside an incredibly beautiful Spanish coastline called “Costa Tropical" in Andalusia (a province of Granada) with ancient cities and towns, churches and monasteries, alongside fancy tourist accommodations fringing the water. Highly intensive and terraced horticultural areas sit below the snowy Sierra Lujar mountains.

Leaving Cartagena

The snowy Sierra Lujar mountains with horticultural areas below in the distance

Thanks Simon Reeve for your recent television documentary about the history, economic and political situation of the Mediterranean. In following this coast, all the information for us falls into place. The curse of the discarded plastic from this massive food growing enterprise is certainly an environmental concern. There are state -of-the-art wind turbines proudly placed among the relics of a golden past and we are, unbelievably, being escorted by a pod of dolphins up on the bow…we could not paint a prettier picture on our 40-hour long ocean route to Malaga; who would imagine!

But back to the story. We ended up spending two nights in “Puerto Pollensa”. The Marina Manager gave us a berth at a jetty which was miles from the action, however we are always happy to do kilometres of walking when on land. I have re-commissioned my Fit-Bit to calculate steps and mileage, the numbers are getting, well…pretty impressive! 

Our berth in Puerto Pollensa...that's where the action is way in the distance!

Most of the beauty of the Port of Pollensa was all about the actual marina. Hundreds of interesting yachts, all shapes and sizes, from all around the world. No super yachts for a change, but plenty of “wanna be”, little (expensive) super yachts type launches, many from Germany and England, some real beauties. 

Some of these English guys obviously take their television viewing very seriously

The marina was divided into travelling yachts, permanent live-aboards, runabouts and the traditional fishing boats of Mallorca, the "llaut". The main esplanade was wide and clearly geared up for tourists. Behind the façade, the place was basic and not near as clean and tidy as previous towns we had visited to date.

The traditional fishing boats of Mallorca,the “llaüts”

Phones are amazing these days aren't they? A quick snap walking back to the yacht one night!

Les and I found the markets 10 minutes before they shut. Glenys, Bruce and Janelle found us fossicking amongst leather handbags, giant dates and strawberries, then hustled us, unexpectantly, down the road, as only Glenys can do, and in 5 minutes, we were on a very flash bus, heading for the main town of Pollenca, 7 kilometres away. The town centre was really very special with tradition, history, fascinating architecture and a rich culture all blended together over the centuries. 

The highlight was walking up the top of the hill up the 365 marble steps, called the "Calvari Steps" to the Calvary Chapel. We’d seen it in a brochure and if my sister sets her eyes on a hill, the family have to climb it. I think Les will definitely need a knee operation back in NZ after this marathon! Gorgeous wide steps, a lot of fun to walk up.

The 365 marble steps to Calvary Chapel

The Calvary Chapel

Stunning villas lined the steps

It was my bright idea to have lunch away from the centre, "let’s eat like a local”. In we went to this little restaurant which had no menu (because they don’t) and a lone waiter/bar tender who knew no English. However, everyone knows the universal word of “beer”. So down we sat at our little table and out came the usual tapas with the beers. Then came 3 more intriguing dishes, more beer and a bottle of red wine for the boys. We ate until the food stopped coming and we could barely get out of our chairs. Obviously, as those of you who travel will know, the midday meal is the main event of the day here.  For a mere 7 euros each, we felt as if we had just had Christmas dinner! Quite fun but we missed our bus back to the boat and ended up watching Glenys in a fascinating pantomime, with vigorous hand movements, trying to ask a delicatessen owner, where the taxi rank was. We all crammed into a little taxi with a nice man 30 minutes later and made it back to Marmax intact.

The Port of Soller...just magical

Next morning, we had another diesel breeze around to the delightful Port of Soller. Just magical! The marina was a lot smaller than Pollensa with more local boats than visitors. The first decent size trawlers we had seen, shared our jetty. I found an English-speaking crew member who was happy to practice the language on me. They appeared to mainly trawl for sardines and for, what the Aussies call “Coral Prawns”; a by-product in Oz. Tiny, tiny crustacean creatures by comparison with Aussie and NZ seafood. For those of you who know my trawling background, I was absolutely aching to show the deckies mending nets, how to do things properly. In fact, it would have been rather tempting to design some decent nets for them there and then; their methods are age-old and ineffective, but I guess at least they will never over-fish the Balearic Islands. Though, in saying that, the Mediterranean, as much as it is truly beautiful, the sea life is almost non-existent; like a very clean aquarium before you put your fish in it. I left the fishing crew feeling quite sorry for them, but they were happy, and you must respect their traditions.

Fishing nets being mended in Soller 

The Port of Soller was a pristine beach promenade fringing an ancient esplanade boasting more of that stunning ancient architecture. 

The Esplanade of the wonderful Port of Soller

The next morning, we jumped on the little historic train and went for a ride into the township of Soller, considered to be the most beautiful city in all of Mallorca as it is set in a fertile valley overlooking the Mediterranean with the impressive Tramuntana mountains as a backdrop. The paving stones have been polished like glass for centuries by the feet of its inhabitants. I imagine, when and if it rains around here, walking in high heels would be pretty interesting going downhill. The buildings were just glorious. We had never seen so many orange, lemon and olive trees, the colour was amazing. I read that the name Soller was derived from an Arabic word, “Sulyar”, which means the Golden Valley. That works…it was a true gem. Did I mention the pastries in this town? To die for! We were right little piggies.

The historic train of Soller

The elegant brass door knockers on private villas

There were lots of classy clothes shops beautifully displayed in gorgeous old buildings (Katya Maker…I am thinking of you constantly over here; no wonder you get your inspirations from overseas; you would love it!). Lots of artisans, churches and narrow little cobbled streets.

A little photo of 2 shop fronts for Katya Maker of Warkworth :)

Spent the last hour before heading to sea, picking up “sea glass” off the beach. I think the tourists thought we were quite mad; they were certainly curious about what we were up to. Kind of neat to imagine all the thousands of people over the years who had raised a lip to this pretty glass. 

Les and Janelle collecting sea glass

3.00 pm had us casting off again, unbelievably, still no wind for the 100 nautical miles we had to cover to reach Ibiza. Another clear, calm, starry night. I came on watch at midnight, taking over from Glenys, who stayed and chatted for a half hour. At 12.15am, we completely lost the radar reading for no reason at all. Totally weird. We tried everything to get it working as there are rather large transporter ships moving about at a rate of knots which we are always watching for. Turns out, on investigation the next morning, we had just entered the famous “Triangle of Silence”, the “El Triangulo del Selencio”. A spooky phenomenon, a little like the Bermuda Triangle. It is well known that radars and compasses on ships and aeroplanes often go haywire without any scientific explanation. Google it (we can’t right now), my late father would have been excited by this, our family are crazy about UFO’s and weird stuff.

A German guy told up the Meditteranean was actually nicknamed the "Motorteranean" by yachties
for obvious reasons... 

Janelle, as usual, comfortable for her watch!

Uncle Les...the equally comfortable observer cruising down the Mallorcan Coast!

Farewell to Mallorca...

The island of Ibiza, in flat calm sea conditions, allowed us to glide into all these charming, rocky bays sprinkled in what looked like fishermen’s shacks along the coastlines. Janelle occupied herself playing trapezes off the side of Marmax in the bosuns chair. 

Janelle keeping herself amused off Ibiza

Us girls doing our bit for NZ clothing marketing! All decked out in our Hunting and Fishing gear!

Obviously, a lot more English influence here looking at the designs of the homes. Bruce wanted to be clear of Ibiza by nightfall to make up time, so we continued on to an island to the south called Formentera. This island boasts to have some of the most beautiful beaches in the world. We dropped the anchor in a turquoise, pure white sandy bottomed bay and, mainly because I can’t let my sister beat me at anything, joined silly Glenys and Janelle for the coldest swim I have ever had in my life…just so now we can say – “Yep, we’ve swum in the Mediterranean. Geez!

FREEEZZZZING swimming at Formentera, just below Ibiza

Another 24 hours of motoring followed by 6 hours of awesome sailing. Les kept us entertained by catching our first fish on a spinner at sunset, a tuna, and we had the privilege of meeting some very friendly dolphins who kept turning up to stare at us in the crystal, clear water. They think they enjoyed our squealing too!

Les's first tuna catch aboard Marmax

Unbelievable how clear the water was and how big the dolphins here are!

Into the Port of Cartagena, the first fierce force of military we had come across. We counted 16 naval ships, 2 super yachts, but mostly pleasure yachts and catamarans. Our luck, as we backed in to the marina, the wind blew up to 17 knots which would have been nice to sail in. 

Entrance to Cartagena

A friendly reception from the Marina Manager and the excited liveaboards surrounding us – Americans and Germans. They looked longingly at us, clearly hoping they could share company and beverages with us, but with us having arrived at 5.00pm, a quick sneaky beer in the saloon of Marmax, and we were off for a speed date with Cartagena. We simply do no have time for socialising at times; we are on a mission to get to the Caribbean now.

Les and I have never seen Roman ruins before and this town was full to the brim with them, all in various stages of discovery and restoration. Cartagena definitely did not enjoy the wealth of Mallorca, but to their credit, every street had massive renovation projects going on to protect, not only the ruins, but the stunning facades of their intricate, historic architecture. As night approached, one could not help but notice the step up in street security; police and guards everywhere. We had been warned about the bad parts of the town by the Marina Manager and his words of warning stuck in our head. Lots of suspicious looking young men in the streets as the dark closed in; they obviously have their social troubles here.

The history of this place is truly incredible...we could go on forever about it

Roman ruins running right through Cartagena 

Once we had an eyeful of history and culture, and the back streets got too spooky, time for a drink at a bar. Loving the compulsory tapas, with a beer or wine idea! We have also decided on Marmax, that our main meal will be at midday instead of at night. It is more social when you are spending weeks at sea, and it works with the watches better at night. Watch this space, lets see how long we last!

Farewell to Catagena straight into a 20-25 knot, downwind breeze to get us cracking along. We blasted along under the sheer cliffs lined with turrets and ancient black cannons pointing down on us and made our way through half a dozen big cargo ships lined up waiting to enter the harbour. At the time of writing this, Glenys was trying to find a berth for us in Malaga, but it appears we are to large for them to accommodate Marmax in their marinas.

The wind dropped right off again at dawn, so we ended up motoring into, yet another “curious” port called Puerto de Motril. 

The Yacht Club and marina of Puerto de Motril.

Something every respected Royal Yacht Club should have at the front door
 to welcome patrons...a selection of pig legs (Spanish dry cured ham called Jamon)

  

Parked up in Motril for a few hours

We dropped in as we thought we had to clear Customs before leaving Spain. In broken English, we were directed to the central police station and a very sexy looking policeman informed us that it was not necessary for us to get Customs clearance even though the next port was English, not Spanish. Gibraltar is obviously part of the EU and as Kiwis and Australians aboard, we are authorised to enter. We went for another power walk around the town; nothing to report. Why anyone would live here is beyond us. Because it is not the tourist season here, everything was shut up, but it was still ugly. The marina and Yacht Club were pretty and very accommodating, but Glenys and I agreed, the best thing about Motril was that tall, dark and handsome policeman. We gave Malaga a miss. Gibraltar, here we come!

No pictures of the sexy policeman but here's a girl for the boys

Hoping to tell you all about the Barbary Apes of the Rock of Gibraltar in the next update. We hear that, during the second World War, the ape numbers started declining so Winston Churchill ordered a new batch from Morocco. We should feel quite at home there!

Adios from the crew of Marmax!