27 August 2013

 

With wind still on the nose if we were to set off to Ibiza, and not enough of it to make much progress, as well as the lingering threat of thunder storms, we headed up the coast. 

 

We passed Benidorm, which is very impressive from the sea, with a skyline that would be at home among the skyscrapers of the far East. 

 

We passed Altea, the place after which the boat is named, and nosed into Calpe as a possible overnight stop. However, it did not look as dramatic and lovely as the photos in the pilot book and we nosed back out again and headed further North.

 

Each major point along this part of the coast seems to be marked by a towering pillar of rock that looks like (and may actually be) a volcanic plug.  We keep promising ourselves to look up the geology, and in the meantime speculate with varying degrees of confidence and ignorance about the sedimentary, igneous, metamorphic, conglomerate and other rock formations that we think we are looking at.  The most remarkable was the white cliff that marks the beginning of the Costa Blanca, and gives it its name.  It looked like a stranded iceberg.

 

We settled on Moraiva as our anchorage for the night, and very pleasant it was, surrounded by attractive villas and with clear blue water.  It had the the feel, for the first time, of the coves we had enjoyed in the Mediterranean Islands on past trips.  We swam and after we had settled in we went ashore in the dinghy.  The posh restaurant was full, so we resolved stay another day and to eat there the next night.  Tapas on the wall above the beach was the alternative, and then home to bed and to catch up on some sleep.

 

28 August 2013

 

A day of rest.  It was good to stay put for a day.  Myriads of motor boats arrived during the day and anchored around us, with families playing and couples sunbathing and swimming.   There was the usual dance of boats around their anchors as the winds shifted and brought them closer and then further apart.  But there were no collisions, which is amazing as we had about 30m of chain out and some of the motor boats only seemed to put down 10. 

 

We swam, caught up with our homework and had a trip into town.  We tied the dinghy up to the quay near the boat lift, and walked around the marina into the back streets.  After a bit of shopping (I bought a new straw hat to replace the hat overboard at Barbate) and a couple of beers and an email session at a bar with Wi Fi we returned to the dinghy to realise that instead of a sign discouraging dinghies, the harbour authorities had adopted the tactic of painting everything with blue paint that came off on anything that touched it.  So with blue feet and a blue dinghy and various blue bottomed shopping bags, we returned to the boat, thankful that we would not need to go back into town.

 

We booked the restaurant by the beach and were looking forward to it, but as we were about to set off around 7:30 the skies were darkening and we had to make the decision to stay on board.  It was the right call, because the heavens opened and there was a downpour of proverbial biblical (?) proportions, with strong winds to suit.  An alternative meal of beefburgers instead of fillet steak was rustled up and with cheese and Parma ham, it could not have been bettered.  The golf range finder was used to verify that we were not dragging off the beach or swinging too close to the cliffs or the Beneteau in front.

 

As it went dark S noticed that a fishing boat had dropped a couple of buoys behind us in the bay and we made a mental note to look out for them in the morning.