Given the delicate state of the engine, we were lucky to be able to sail almost into the marina in Rota, just using the engine for the last 10 minutes or so. Our arrival in the marina was a masterpiece in miscommunication. First of all I totally forgot to set up a bowline, which meant that I had to run up and down the deck like a loony at the last minute. Still flustered, I didn’t like to argue when David insisted on attempting to berth on the pontoon that said ‘DO NOT BERTH’. The kids jumped onto the pontoon to tie off the ropes, but there was only one cleat on the whole pontoon – which is fine if you are a ferry with bow thrusters, but not if you are a yacht without, attached only at the stern with the wind blowing you off. David stomped up and down the deck (suffering irreparable Croc damage) while he and I shouted rude things at each other. Meanwhile, Bethany and I threw bits of rope to each other and eventually found a way of pulling the bows in. The kids remained calm and efficient throughout our little discussion of our respective technical abilities and eyesight.

Read me.

Technical hitch no. 542

Once safely installed on a nice long hammerhead with lots of lovely cleats to tie bits of string to, we addressed the problem of the engine. After spending a while down the engine hole, poking hoses and paddling around in murky water (aided and abetted by Jim from MBOLO), David narrowed down our problem to a cracked expansion tank on the engine freshwater system. We ordered the part and settled down to explore Rota and Cadiz.

Rota

The old town of Rota is a warren of narrow, cobbled, twisting streets opening onto public squares and Moorish courtyards. It has two beaches; one sandy beach stretching out along the Atlantic coast, and another curving around the Bay of Cadiz, cut short by the wall of razor wire, CC-TV cameras and watch towers that marks the perimeter of the Rota Naval Base. The base, a shared Spanish/NATO/USA undertaking, is home to quite a few Sea King helicopters, Galaxies and Harrier Jump Jets (so David informs us – why do boys always know what particular flavour of aircraft are responsible for disturbing the peace?).

A razor wire view of one of Rota’s beaches.

Moorish architecture in Rota.

We found:

·        a friendly bar with wi-fi

·        the tourist info place and the library

·        a banana tree

·        the bakery, vegetable market and the fish market

·        the hairdresser (for Bethany’s fringe)

·        a choice of supermarkets

·        an army surplus store

·        a sherry bar (local sherry 40 cents a glass and no seats – presumably so that your knees tell you when you’ve had enough)

·        and lots of lovely ironmongers.

Bethany, with freshly-tamed fringe.

Miami Vice lookout!

Banana blooms and fruit.

Sherry labels in the wi-fi bar.

The castle in Rota, home to the tourist information office.

Cadiz

When we set out on this trip, Cadiz was one of the places that I really wanted to visit. When we were little, Catherine (my sister) and I had a game called Buccaneer – a game of high seas, skulduggery, pirates and treasure. One of the ports on the game board was Cadiz, which to an 8-year-old me sounded remote, romantic and exotic. We took the ferry from Rota to Cadiz, joking about the zig-zag course that the driver took for the 20-minute passage. We passed the QE II on the way into the port. Obviously some people like to cruise in comfort – but I bet they haven’t swum with terrapins!

Cruising the comfortable way – the QE II.

The town, held captive on an island joined to the mainland by a narrow causeway, was a bigger, grander version of Rota, with narrow streets, soaring towers and shady squares and was just as I had imagined it would be. It was, however, missing the pirates brandishing swords and Spaniards wearing ruffs, those daft bloomer things and tights. We visited the museum and had a great seafood lunch washed down with a crisp white wine to make up for the missing pirates.

Architecture fit for Spaniards wearing ruffs and tights.

Narrow streets harbouring pirates, old cannons and wheelie bins.

Impressive roots.

The gruesome twosome and Captain Flambé.

We had had our fill of Cadiz, seafood and white wine, so we made our way back to the ferry port only to be informed that the ferry had been cancelled due to high winds (hence the erratic course on the way across). After finding out that the next bus to Rota left in 2 hours and took nearly 2 hours to get there, we wimped out and took a taxi – a lot quicker but a lot more expensive!

Technical hitch no. 543

Having paid an extortionate amount of postage to get our new expansion tank sent from Barcelona to Rota, we had it fitted, topped up the water and coolant, paid our marina bill and prepared to sail south east for Barbate. We had the butties made, the flask filled, the waypoints entered in the chart plotter – and a new knocking noise from the engine. Further investigation revealed water spraying around the engine room. B*GG*R was the word that sprang to my mind (David says that the word that sprang to his mind probably shouldn’t be published). We turned the engine off, booked ourselves back into the marina and tried to find a Volvo service engineer. We eventually tracked down the main Volvo dealer in the area who took a look and confirmed our suspicions that our fresh water coolant pump was dead. He promised to order the part – David even had to go to Chipiona in person to make a part payment on the VISA card as they couldn’t order it without pre-payment (which they couldn’t do over the ‘phone for some reason). If only if was that simple. Unfortunately, Volvo stopped making this bit of our engine (for that read any bit of our engine) about 5 years ago, which means that those obscure spares sitting on dusty store-room shelves have now all been snapped up, and the part we wanted was not available through Volvo dealers in Spain, Italy, the UK, and the Netherlands for blood nor money. We had friends trawling all known sources, and we even stooped to searching on e-Bay. We are now waiting for the pump to be rebuilt by a guy who works on vintage cars – oh the joys of an old engine! Looking on the bright side (as we always try to do), at least we were still in the marina and hadn't chugged halfway across the Bay of Cadiz before we noticed…