Entranced by Eivissa

Sun 22 Sep 2013 06:47
At 4.00 next day La Poste throbbed its way back into our lives. Moored five
hundred metres from us it throbbed on (albeit at a slightly reduced volume)
and was still throbbing its monotonous beat (do its desperate revellers
never sleep?) at 10.00 as we weighed anchor and set sail for the short trip
to the island of Espalmador. Wending our way between rocks and through
shallows we pick up a mooring buoy in its only tenable bay. No anchoring
here as they commendably seek to protect the posidonia grass in this
Caribbean like bay with its white sand beaches and shallow blue and
turquoise hued waters. The sun shines, the gentle breeze blows, we take the
tender ashore, walk the white sand, cool our feet in the gin clear water all
the time trying to ignore those seeking an all over tan. Lunch aboard
Pamarzi then a brisk broad reach in double figures to Ibiza Town. Only one
berth available for our size in Botafoch Marina, it's expensive but we take
it for we are already seduced by that which surrounds us. We Mediterranean
moor picking up the usual filthy laid line to secure our bow, finding
ourselves moored amongst billions of pounds worth of (mostly power) boats.
Our berth is number 747 of 800 and the other 799 are already taken with
hardly a boat worth less than two million and some ten or more times that!
The view from our after deck simply stunning, we gaze across the moon lit
harbour to the sixth century Carthaginian citadel, its massive (and subtly
lit) walls atop a hill defending the old town within. We take an ageing
water taxi that pants and rolls its way across the silvered, moon lit waters
of the harbour depositing us at a set of ancient steps hewn into the harbour
wall. The little, old boat looking incongruous amongst a harbour full of
gleaming, super yachts and private ships. Climbing the limestone stairway we
enter a world of light and life, a bustling throng of tanned and smiling
people midst the restaurants, open fronted shops and artisan stalls. The
place an appealing mixture of Mediterranean chic and the 1970's hippy
movement. Elderly survivors of that period still stroll their besandaled way
amongst the uber rich, the men's now grey pony tails held in place by
beaded, leather thongs. If fluorescent pinks and yellows are feminine beach
wear here, in the evenings white is de riguer, lots of gauzy, lacy white. We
climb to the omnipresent massiveness of the walls of the old town, over a
draw bridge, through giant sized oak doors, crossing through a stone
porticoed hall way of similar proportions and into the shining, limestone,
cobbled hub bub of this ancient place that has seen so many empires come
and go.
Eivassa so much more than the vulgar party place and haunt of drunken, moral
free lads and ladettes that we previously believed it was. We are entranced
by its verdant, beauty, its cala scalloped shore line. The remnants of hippy
culture seemingly mixing so easily with the super-rich. Excellent
restaurants are to be found away from the hideously expensive and generally
mediocre beach bars. The indigenous population appear to be fully employed a
significant contrast to the main land. And one cannot help but be in awe of
the vast wealth here, houses and yachts priced in tens of millions!
Botafoch Marina our berth for the next three days. Rob and Liliane leave for
their boutique hotel in the northern mountains whilst we attend to boat and
domestic chores, joining them on Thursday afternoon to tour the highways and
byways of Ibiza noticing how little of this green island is turned over to
agriculture. The terracotta coloured earth is fertile but only three per
cent is commercially farmed. Inheritance has split the land into too many
small parcels and the warming and drying climate over the last thirty or so
years has made farming uncommercial. We return with Rob and Liliane to their
mountain hideaway close to the little town of Sant Miguel. There on a
hillside terrace we swim and lounge in the sun before joining la patron for
pre-dinner drinks, later dining on glorious chateau briande. Too soon, for
we have become good friends, we must say our goodbyes, promising to visit
Belgium in the winter.
After our final night in Botafoch we cast off our lines, set course for
Ensenada de la Canal passing again through Grande Feu. Here we lie at anchor
awaiting the arrival of Bernie and Joy on the morrow.
Roger & Lynn
The crew of Pamarzi