June 21, 2019
The passage from Gibraltar to Ibiza was fun and challenging at the same time. After having already been at sea well over a week with only a brief stop, the crew were weary and more than a little antsy to make it to the Balearics and to celebrate the end of an epic crossing. For most of the passage, the wind seemed to be following us around like a shadow no matter which way we turned. We tried again to use our downwind rig, but the wind wasn't quite strong enough to make for a nice sail. It was quite flukey, which is apparently par for the course in the Med, at times hitting 15 knots and filling the sails, then 20 minutes later dying down to sub 8 knots and changing direction just enough so that our jib sail would flap and collapse on itself. There was a lot of faffing about with the sails as we tried to harness the wind, and I was especially loath to turn the motor on. It's just so much more satisfying when you are moving along just on the strength of the wind and not burning fuel! In the end, it was a compromise for much of the 2-day crossing, and we did a bit of motor-sailing when necessary to stay above 6 knots. Sailing up the coast of Spain, it didn’t seem we were missing much - the landscape was rocky, arid and lacked the types of inlets and coves that might make for interesting exploration by boat. But we were thankful for clear nights at sea without too much traffic. Strangely, we kept hearing the same Pan Pan message (emergency message less severe than a May Day) on the radio warning of an unidentified boat that was not under command and roaming somewhere close to the southern Spanish coast. It sounded to us by the description that it was likely a migrant boat trying to make a night crossing from Africa, but we didn't see anything.
At around 3 PM on Thursday afternoon, we could just discern the south coast of Ibiza in the distance. Watching the island come more into focus over the course of the next 2 hours was pretty remarkable. We pumped up the music and let Avicii provide the soundtrack to our final leg of the journey, which seemed appropriate. We eventually slid into the bay that would serve as our anchorage on the south coast of the island. It was a large and calm bay, relatively uncrowded with only a couple other boats. We dug our hook in nicely, and Stephen popped a bottle of champagne that we had been saving for just this moment while I immediately ran to the bow and chucked myself in the water, clothes and all. It was a surreal feeling, knowing we had made it all the way from Dublin to Ibiza on Florence. I felt in the moment I couldn't fully appreciate how far we had come over the past 5 weeks, from having never sailed our boat before to taking her over 2500 nautical miles from the south of England up through Ireland, all around Inner and Outer Hebrides of Scotland, back down and across Biscay Bay, to Lisbon, through the Gib Strait, and up the Mediterranean to the dramatic Balearic Islands. After all our dreaming, planning, preparation, and hard work, we were here.
Time for proper reflection would have to wait however, as we only had one night with Hozza to celebrate before he left us. We wanted to take him out for a night in the Old Town to thank him and to have a proper goodbye. After showering and for the first time in weeks putting on what could be considered proper outfits, Florence's crew dingied ashore, anchoring the dingy off Es Torrent beach club and promptly ordering a spritz, some beers and a large plate of their finest ham. This is what I had sailed 2500nm for! A cold spritz and some Iberico ham. It was worth it.
Craving sorted, we taxied to the Old Town. It was Hozza's first time in Ibiza, so we thought a wander around the town would be fun. We could have given him the proper Ibiza inauguration and taken him to Pasha or Amnesia or something, but honestly I am too old for that shit and after a long and tiring journey, I needed that experience like a sharp stick in the eye. We instead had a fairly civilised if quite boozy dinner at one of our favourite Italian restaurants in town called La Oliva. It was a bit emotional, as Florence's crew reflected on how far we had come together and everything we’d learned and accomplished. After dinner, we were unanimous in that rather than bar or club hop in town, it felt more appropriate to spend our last night together on Florence, our trusty girl who had taken us so far. After making a booze run at a convenient store called Surprise Passion (?), we decamped back to the boat to chat and listen to music. I'm happy to say my old college a cappella group, the Harvard Opportunes, got a lot of airtime at Hozza's request. Clearly not that familiar with a cappella, he was amazed that the sound was coming solely from voices, with no instrumentation. It was nice to have some fresh appreciation for the music I had spent so much time in college making, as most people have a very limited bandwidth for a cappella (can't 100% blame them), and my family and friends had already heard all our albums to death (sorry guys!). We chatted until 4 AM, thoroughly enjoying our last night as a crew. We had come a long way together, literally and figuratively, and had truly become a team and lifelong friends. Sea Brothers, as Hozza would say.
The following day, heads a bit thick, Stephen and I dragged ourselves out of bed, took a dunk in the ocean to help wake up, and decided to grab our boat documents and passports to try to check into the country. We weren't quite sure what the process was, as it was hard to find information about immigration and customs regulations online or in the pilot books. We had heard different stories about checking in in various countries, some people saying not to bother, others saying certain countries were more strict than others. I had spent so much effort getting all of Florence's paperwork in perfect order, I figured we might as well make use of it and properly check in. It turned out not to be so easy! We went to the largest marina on the island, with all our paperwork laminated and in an organised binder, hall monitor-style. We spoke to the attendant in the marina, and he just had no clue. He said we should ask the police what to do. He called them on our behalf and began speaking rapidly to them in Spanish, trying to explain our situation. The police promptly hung up on him, so he turned to us and just said "No lo sé." Helpful. We went to the police station ourselves, but they are apparently only open Mon-Fri from 10-2 PM. It was 1 PM on Friday, and they seemed to have already packed it in, getting an early start on the weekend. Welcome to Spain. We figured if that was the case, we had little choice but to do the same and revisit the problem on Monday.
Then it was time to officially say goodbye to Hozza. He had been a dream instructor over the past 5 weeks, his knowledge of sailing and boats seemingly unlimited, and we could not have gotten here without his help. Plus after spending so much time together, he'd become a dear friend. It was certainly bittersweet to see him go. We dingied him ashore, had some last bear hugs, and exchanged promises to be sea brothers for life and to try to cross wakes again sometime soon. And just like that, Florence's crew went from 3 to 2. We were officially on our own. There was an accompanying combination of excitement and nerves. It's just us now, time to apply everything we'd learned over the past 5 weeks (and 2 years) and see how we would do! if something goes wrong now, it's up to us to solve it - no safety net. We celebrated our first solo night by cooking dinner on the boat and enjoying our first meal in Florence's cockpit, listening to music and watching the sun set over the cliffs. We capped the night off with a dive in the sea, which was pink and blood orange from the reflection of the sky. Let’s see what tomorrow brings!
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