July 15, 2019
The following day was D day for Barcelona, and we were pumped. The wind was forecast to be best from the afternoon on, with the best winds not filling in until evening, so a later departure time than we had originally planned might be better. That suited us just fine, as this was also the Wimbledon Men's Final, and we were both hesitant to miss history unfold with the Federer / Djokovic showdown. We estimated the sail to take about 19 hours, with strong winds to start that would die down overnight, then pick up again the following morning. We figured if we left anytime before 8 PM that night, we should be fine. As we got ready to dinghy ashore to hopefully find somewhere to watch the match, the swell in the anchorage had really picked up. It was definitely time to leave the bay, as that night would have been unbearable in this swell, with winds picking up significantly as well. We realised once in the dinghy that one of the cantilevers from our davits, the steel bars that hold the dinghy in place when she is out of the water, had come loose overnight and was just dangling by a line in the water. Thank goodness it was tied on, or it would have just sunk to the bottom. The swell at this point was too fierce to contemplate trying to get back aboard and to try to fix it in this bumpy sea, so we would just have to tackle it when we got back.
It's a good thing we had such a flexible departure window, as the match ended up going 5 sets over 5+ hours. Stephen and I found a sympathetic barman at one of the little beachfront hotels who agreed to put the match on for us in a sitting room, so we ordered a little lunch and hunkered down for what turned out to be an epic mano a mano showdown and a true test of stamina and grit. What a match. Djokovic eventually emerged victorious, which was a little disappointing to us Fed fans, but Ol' Rog will get him next time! We were both exhausted by the time we headed back to the boat, emotionally drained from the intensity of the past 5 hours and not necessarily super psyched to do an overnight sail. We managed to fix the davit once back onboard, which thankfully was a relatively simple exercise of sliding it back in place and retightening the screws. That was not our only issue however. Both our watermaker and our refrigerator and stopped working - problems we would have to sort in Barcelona, as darkness was falling fast and we really needed to get moving. We weighed anchor and set off into an absolutely stunning sunset. We continued to have difficulty furling out our mainsail, which seems to be getting more finicky each time. After tinkering with it, we managed to get the full sail out, but we are both getting concerned that there is something wrong with either the sail or the furler, as it seems to be degenerating. Some of the battens on the sail were again threatening to fall out, so we did a pseudo fix by taping them down with this extra-viscous tape called gorilla tape. We seem to be finding a lot of uses for gorilla tape on the boat, as my fix-it motto is, "When in doubt, tape it!" Though I highly doubt marine engineers would agree with that approach...
Stephen and I drank some coffee and got mentally prepared for the next 19 hours, our longest solo passage yet. The beginning of the passage was smooth, fast and beautiful. Florence loves a beam reach. We did our 4 hour solo watch system again, and neither of us had any issues on our night watch. The sea was quiet, with very few boats out in the dead of night in that stretch of water, which I much prefer. As great as the AIS system is, playing real life battle ship in the middle of the night, dodging tankers and fishing vessels, is not as fun as it might sound. I prefer the quiet night watches where I can continue to work my way through the audiobook version of Anna Karenina (brevity doesn't seem to have been Tolstoy's thing) in tranquility.
As forecast, the winds died off a bit overnight, but it wasn't too much of a concern as we were making faster time than anticipated. They picked up again as the sun began to peek over the horizon, treating us to another explosion of colour across the water. As I was polishing off our 4th pot of coffee, I looked up and shouted, "Land Ho!" There was mainland Spain in the distance. Stephen was not in the best of moods that morning, as he couldn’t sleep on his off watch and was frustrated by all the things broken on the boat. We were both thankful at least to be heading into what appeared to be a full-service marina where we could address the growing list of concerns. As we approached the coast of Barcelona, the winds really picked up and made for an exhilarating sail as the buildings of the city center got closer and closer. What a cool experience.
As we approached the marina breakwater, Stephen took the helm to park the boat. The next 30 minutes ended up being a nightmare. We called Ch. 9 on the VHF as we entered the marina to get our berthing instructions. They should have been expecting us, so we thought the process would be relatively straightforward. It wasn't. Nobody at the capitainerie spoke English, which is fair enough, but it made it extremely difficult to understand where they wanted us to go. We saw a man in a tender eventually come up to us. He didn't speak English either, but he was waving to us to follow him, so we did. We kept motioning to him trying to figure out how he wanted us to set up the boat for the park, as it's crucial to know where to put the fenders and lines, etc., at risk of really damaging your boat if you don't have it right. It was also extremely unclear where he wanted us to go. We finally thought we knew the spot where he wanted us, a decent enough space where we would head in bows first and tie up our port side. Stephen began heading in. Then the man started shouting loudly in Spanish and waving his arms, telling us that was not in fact our berth and leading us instead to the entrance of a smaller section of the marina. There was clearly a low bridge over the entrance, which our chart indicted was 16 meters in height. Florence has a 23 meter air draft, so it was abundantly clear we were far too tall to fit into that section of the marina. What the hell were they trying to do, de-mast us? We had clearly given the marina the dimensions of our boat, including our air draft when we made the reservation. This is when the shouting really kicked up. We refused to go any further and spun the boat back around away from the dangerous bridge. Stephen was doing a great job of staying calm and manoeuvring the boat around in the tight space as we made clear there was no way in hell we were going anywhere close to that bridge. Finally he seemed to concede and begrudgingly led us to a spot further out in the marina where Florence could actually fit. I give Stephen a lot of credit for keeping his cool and executing a clean reverse park into the spot. I, on the other hand, had lost my shit. A deckhand helped us tie off, and someone from the capitainerie who finally spoke English came over and apologised for the cock up, explaining they had mistakenly given the spot reserved for us away that morning and there was some confusion about where to put us. I suggested a berth that wouldn't involve us getting de-masted would have been a start, but all is well that ends well I suppose. All tied up with stern and spring lines, Stephen and I collapsed onto our bed. Boiling, exhausted, and more than a little rattled, that was NOT the welcome into Barcelona we had expected. We needed a nap and a cold shower before we could contemplate bringing our paperwork to the marina to check in. So far, this marina was proving to be an interesting choice. We had decided against the marina that is smack in the center of town and opted for a slightly less expensive one that was built as part of the Olympic Village from the 1992 games. The marina seems to be full service, but the area itself is a little soulless now. Still, it's just a short taxi or a longish walk into the part of town where we would be staying for a few nights. Two of our friends from London had recently moved to Barcelona and had invited us to come stay with them while here. After that parking experience and with one too many things broken on the boat, we were happy to take them up on their offer!
After checking in, securing the boat, and throwing some things in a bag (again, having so few possessions makes packing a breeze), we hopped in a taxi and made it to our friends' Katie and Theo’s place in time for cocktail hour. Their apartment in the Eixample district of the city was amazing, in this beautiful old building with cathedral ceilings, large windows, and most importantly, air conditioning! This European heatwave was still in full swing, and Stephen and I were grateful for any opportunity to escape the heat. We had a great catch up with them, cooing over their adorable son Hazlo who was celebrating his first birthday the following day. We strolled into Born, one of my favourite neighborhoods in the city, for some amazing tapas before settling down for the night. Stephen and I happily collapsed into a bed that didn’t roll around and that wasn't about to get its mast ripped off by a bridge. We slept the sleep of the dead. Team Florence are looking forward to attacking Barcelona with more energy tomorrow and seeing what this town has to offer!
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