Ibiza Bound - But not Gagged!

Tue 17 Sep 2013 13:06
Plain sailing in familiar waters to Moraira on Tuesday where we meet with
engineer Chris who sorts out our water maker problem (sticking return valve)
whilst we are anchored in El Rinconet. Dark ominous clouds and an increasing
swell prompt a move into the marina. Weather (again) holding us in this
pretty town for two nights, though the discovery of an excellent Indonesian
restaurant whose exquisite food titillates our taste buds, making the wait
With mornings light just lifting the night sky we cast off from a soundless
marina, gliding silently at 700 revs out of the harbour our course set for
Ensenada de la Canal on Ibiza some sixty odd miles to the north east, the
direction the wind decided to blow from for most of the nine hour journey.
We motor sailed in a moderate 1.5 metre swell making good time and arriving
at 16.00. We berthed to a mooring buoy and launched the tender to collect
Rob's wife Lillian from the beach. So nice to see her again, our last
meeting had been at St Katherine's Dock when Pamarzi was launched in April.
Supper ashore that night was over-priced, sea food paella at a supposedly
chic and trendy beach bar.
Ibiza though, at least from the sea, a pleasant surprise. From its southern
tip gently rolling hills clad with trees almost to the shoreline indented
with pretty beach headed calas. Its north western shores whilst steeper and
rockier are similarly blessed with the same verdant cloak, the greenery
broken only by occasional limestone outcrops and pleasant sometimes
beautiful dwellings. How pleasing for the eye not to have to cope with
monolithic, multi-storied, edifices.
Unfurling our sails on Friday morning we ghost off our mooring, retracing
part of yesterday's course along Ibiza's southern coast passing the massive
stone tooth of Islas Vedra on our port side as we took the channel between
it and Cabo Jueu. Heading at first north then north east to overnight at a
well sheltered cala, Port del Torrent where we spend a peaceful night after
dining ashore on modestly good local food.
Next day light airs saw us motor sailing further north eastward, giving San
Antonio a wide berth, lunching and swimming in Puerto De San Miguel, a
narrow cala behind Isla Bosch. Then on to Cala Portinatx where we anchored
in one of its three arms, taking the tender ashore to dine on delicious but
decidedly ugly Hog fish.
A late start on Sunday into an almost windless sea we continue our
circumnavigation rounding the north eastern end of the island and continuing
on round this rugged end of the island. Few calas here big enough for us.
Looking for a lunch stop we try a few but non are tenable until we find Cala
Llonga. Here we lunch and lounge and swim and decide to sail back to
Ensenada de la Canal our starting point thus completing the
circumnavigation. To reach Ensenada de la Canal we must sail through the
only pass with enough depth between Ibiza and Espalmador known as Grande
Feu. It being a Sunday this pass resembles a busy motorway, ferries ply back
and forth between the islands at 25 knots, fishermen litter the sea in their
tiny craft, potbellied business men navigate their sleek and powerful motor
boats, families in day boats and yachts of every type, size and rig converge
on this narrow (and shallow) gap. As we approach 174 feet of Perini Navi,
ketch slices its multi million pound way past us, close enough for its
skipper high on the fly bridge to exchange a friendly wave with us. We drop
our hook in the east side of the bay whilst being assailed by dance music
played at a volume that sends bass shock waves across the water. Our
assailer a replica brigatine moored 250 metres away, its decks teeming with
gyrating bodies seemingly unaware that its voluminous beat can probably be
heard in Madrid. Sunday must be the night for it for whilst our anchor
settles in comes La Poste an ageing 80 foot ketch that has seen better and
doubtless quieter days, she passes within a boat length of us. La Poste's
throbbing beat even louder, the decks awash with florescent pink, yellow and
green bethonged beauties, hips twisting and convulsing, arms waving above
their heads as they display to their admiring male partners who awkwardly
attempt to mimic some of their lithe moves and when failing, yell (in
ecstasy?) and swig from the bottle always carried. It seems a strange mating
ritual but were it not for the vastly excessive volume and the acned,
floral, knee length shorted youths I could have spent a pleasant hour or so
watching the gyrating florescence. Thankfully they moor near the brigatine
and before we dine both pulsate their way towards Formentera under a setting
sun and a sky washed pink by its westering radiance. Little did we realise
that their absence was to be temporary!