August 13, 2019
It was a comforting feeling to have a fully functional boat again. The following morning, Stephen and I put together a passage plan for Antibes over coffee, enjoying our last morning in Canebiers Bay. We seemed to have a favourable weather window that afternoon, with about 12-15 knots on our beam that should push us west along the Cote d'Azur. Neither of us had been to Antibes before, so we were excited to see the town and its surrounding peninsula. It's only about 30 nautical miles from St. Tropez, so it should be an easy afternoon sail. Or so we thought.
We brought up our anchor, which had been well and truly dug and came up covered in thick mud. It took us a while to wash it off before pinning it back down. We now had a better appreciation for just how the Big Gripper held us so securely throughout that miserable storm. Mud is your friend. We navigated out of the bay, weaving among the super yachts and out towards the mouth of the gulf. We had a nice breeze on our beam, so it seemed tIme to get the mainsail out. Stephen and I were both a little nervous, as the sail had been giving us more and more trouble each time we tried to unfurl it. We began slowly, ensuring the angle of the boom was just right, with equal tension in the foot and leech of the sail. We kept the wind about 45 degrees off our starboard bow, which we had been told is the ideal wind angle for furling. The sail started coming out OK, but before long, it jammed yet again. Great. This time, we couldn’t get it to furl in or out - it was just stuck. The battens seemed to be getting snagged and were not coming out of the mast straight. The whole thing looked a mess. It was time to break out what we call the Wheel of Death - a small lever you can stick into the mast that allows you to unfurl the mainsail manually, albeit painfully slowly. It takes an age to crank this tiny lever round and round as the large sail reluctantly inches its way free of the mast. While Stephen was up at the mast cranking away, I was in the cockpit and thought I would try to tighten the outhaul, making the mainsail a bit more taught at its foot, to see if that would help. I must have pulled too tightly because all of a sudden, Stephen started shouting loudly to stop. But it was too late - we heard this horrible ripping noise cut through the air. Oh shit. I had ripped our sail. I quickly re-secured the outhaul, and sure enough, there was a roughly 6-inch rip up from the foot of our sail. What had I done wrong? We had followed exactly the protocol for how best to unfurl the sail using the electrical system, and it just wouldn't work. And then in my attempt to help unfurl it manually, I ripped it apart. What a disaster. After the generator and bilge pump issues of the past few days, we could have used a worry-free sail up the coast to our next destination, but alas it was not meant to be. To stem the damage, we managed to furl away enough of the sail so that the ripped section was inside the mast and therefore not at immediate risk of being ripped further. We would have to deal with this in Antibes. We managed to finish the sail under just the genoa. We sailed around the peninsula of Cap d’Antibes and into the big bay off the old town of Antibes. Though objectively beautiful, it was not a happy sail. Team Florence were thoroughly dejected to have seemingly fucked our mainsail, without being sure how to fix it. To add to the stress, our engine appeared to be acting up, as our motor into the bay was about 2 knots slower than it should have been given our revs. Something else to troubleshoot.
Once anchored up safely on sand inside the large bay, I was still pretty beside myself. After stewing for a while in the cockpit, I tried to put a positive spin on it. If something as major as our mainsail was in need of repair, there is arguably no better place to be in the Med than here in Antibes. Antibes is considered the yachting capital of the Med, home to the biggest and best-equipped marina in the area. We would just have to venture into town the following day in search of someone who might be able to help. In the meantime, it was time for a heart to heart. Stephen and I were both rattled and thoroughly discouraged that evening. Although Stephen insisted what happened to the mainsail was not my fault and that the sail had been fucked for weeks, I felt terrible and nearly ready to give up. Again, the shine had been taken off our arrival in a new place by something major that was broken on the boat and would no doubt be involved and expensive to fix. We questioned again why were doing this and whether it was worth the stress and expense. After asking some difficult questions, we seemed to come to the same conclusion that despite the stresses, we both truly believed this trip had been and would continue to be worthwhile. What was needed perhaps was a change of attitude. Rather than letting the inevitable onslaught of unforeseen problems/challenges ruin our experience, we should probably just operate under the assumption that something will likely go wrong each day - some things minor, some things not so minor. And when they do go wrong, we need to be able to laugh about it. If we don’t have a sense of humour, the trip will be miserable. In this lifestyle where you have no control over the weather and little control over what breaks at any given time, the only things within your control are your attitude and mind frame. Should we think of this as the most exciting, challenging job we've had yet or the worst, most stressful holiday? The former, we agreed, was the appropriate viewpoint. If all we'd wanted from this experience was the ability to kick back drink mai tais on a beach, there were much easier ways to achieve that. We both chose this adventure because we wanted to challenge ourselves in an entirely new way and thus give ourselves the opportunity to grow, as individuals and as a couple. And indeed that is what the trip has required so far. We laughed about how one of the goals we'd written on our original mission statement was "To throw ourselves outside of our comfort zone.” We thought what an easy and even trite thing that is to say and how living the reality of it is, surprise, surprise, inherently not comfortable! We asked for these challenges, and our ability to roll with the punches and to problem-solve together, tackling tasks we've never done before, in a high-stakes environment was our motivation for going on this adventure. So, when the generator breaks or the boat inexplicably fills with smoke or the mainsail rips 10 minutes into our crossing, we need to laugh at the inevitability of shit going wrong pretty consistently on the boat, to remind ourselves this was what we had signed up for, to take a deep breath, and to get on with it. Even with the problems, it's been an incredible adventure, and we are both learning so much - about sailing, about boat maintenance of all sorts, about ourselves, and about each other.
After this cathartic discussion (and a hearty laugh), we agreed we really needed to get off the boat. We were safe for the time being and would live to solve more problems another day. From our anchorage, the old town of Antibes looked gorgeous and well-worth exploring, so we hopped in the dinghy and ventured towards the beach. We were pleased to discover a small dinghy dock behind the breakwater on the beach where we could stash Rum Jumby for the evening. We walked along the beach before reaching the outskirts of the old town. We walked along the outer wall of the town looking over the bay before ducking back a couple streets to get involved in the maze of winding streets that was the old town,. We both found Antibes to be a bit more vibrant than St. Tropez - perhaps less upmarket, but more varied. My first impression of the town was that if we were stuck here for longer than initially planned, I could think of worse places. I had read about a wine bar that serves all organic and low-intervention wine, so was psyched to scope it out and drink my sail rip woes away. We found the bar tucked away on a quiet corner of town. This stop ended up being a much-needed cherry on top of an otherwise pretty grim day. The proprietor took good care of us, pouring us a few delicious wines by the glass so we could try a good assortment. We threw in a cheese and charcuterie plate and a deliciously greasy cuisse de canard, as one does in France. Slightly buzzed and much less stressed than we had been a few hours prior, we strolled back to Florence for a quiet night on anchor.
The following day was a Sunday, where we figured we would struggle to get anything done, especially in France and in August. So problem-solving could recommence on Monday, and in the meantime we would spend the day exploring more of the peninsula. Antibes is neighboured by a town called Juan-les-Pins. We were intrigued by its write up in the pilot book, which described it as a chic holiday town full of old-world glamour, trendy sidewalk cafes, and pine trees. It used to attract the likes of F. Scott Fitzgerald, and indeed an old hotel on its shoreline is apparently where he penned "Tender is the Night." It sounded right up my alley and well-worth the mere 25-minute walk to get there. We set off after breakfast and enjoyed a quiet, mostly uphill walk through some winding neighbourhood streets to the other side of the peninsula. Once there, our first sighting was of an abandoned hotel that had clearly fallen on tough times. Not a terribly auspicious omen. We continued our wander into the town center, which was an odd and slightly creepy place. The town had the sense of having perhaps been fashionable once upon time but that had since fallen on tough times. It had the air of a rundown amusement park, with a couple brightly lit but depressing-looking casinos, several tiki-type bars with big plastic Indian chiefs or hula girls out front, and plenty of souvenir shops. There were also a few hotels and restaurants that had closed down, with nothing new occupying their slowly decaying storefronts. It definitely seemed as if the charm of Fitzgerald's days had come and gone. Perhaps the pilot book is in need of an update... It was not what we were expecting, but interesting nonetheless and located along a beautiful stretch of beach looking west back towards St. Tropez. We enjoyed our wander around and found a little sidewalk cafe that served up a mean cheeseburger, so it was all in a worthwhile afternoon excursion. After the stroll home, we enjoyed a relaxing evening, soaking in the last of the weekend before Project Fix Sail recommenced the following morning.
In the wee hours of the following morning, the skies opened up, and we regretted having left our hatches open. In the midst of the sail drama, I guess we had gotten a bit lazy with our weather-checking and had missed that a big thunderstorm was blowing through that day. The rain let up momentarily, but we could hear the thunder rolling in, so we knew it was not over. After our experience in St. Tropez caught on anchor in a storm for 2 days, we were not keen to relive the experience, so we decided to try our luck at Port Vauban marina which was just around the corner. We upped anchor around 7 AM and motored the short distance out of the bay, around the old town, and into the marina. We called the harbourmaster on VHF, and they thankfully confirmed they had room for Florence for the night and proceeded to give us berthing instructions. We could only hope this experience would be more straightforward than in Barcelona where we almost lost our mast! Once within the breakwater, the marina appeared large and well-organised. However, the parking instructions we received were in French and fairly vague for anyone unfamiliar with the marina. They told us to park in berth #365 on Mole Sud. Excellent - ou est Mole Sud? No answer. I guess we’d have to figure this out for ourselves. And how should we set up - for a port side park? Stern to? Where do we put our fenders? I was at the helm with Stephen on the radio as we tried to sort the answers to these questions. It appeared all berths for boats around our size were parked stern to, so we set the lines and fenders accordingly. We seemed to have located the area they called Mole Sud on the chart plotter, so I began reversing in looking for our berth number. Then someone on the pontoon started waving his arms and shouting that I was going the wrong way and had to go to the next mole. So I began driving forward and further into the marina, only to get a call from the harbourmaster that we’d passed our mole and needed to go back. OK kids, somebody needs to make up their minds where they want us! I spun around and began reversing back into Mole Sud as we’d originally done, ignoring the dude on the pontoon who continued to insist we were again going the wrong way. We eventually located berth number 365, which was a decent-enough sized spot in between two large motor yachts. I took the reverse park very slowly, while Stephen was quick to toss our stern lines to a dock attendant before taking the mooring lines that were tailed to the quai and securing them to Florence’s bow. We had successfully completed our fist stern-to park in a marina! After some tightening of lines and the additions of spring lines, we seemed to be secure before the worst of the storm came rolling in. That was a relief. We didn’t mind being in a marina for the night, as in addition to the weather, we assumed it would be much easier to find someone to come inspect our sail if in a marina. We walked to the office to check in and to get some recommendations for local sail repair people. I must say, we were impressed with Port Vauban. It was truly a full-service marina and much better run than the one we’d been to in Barcelona. The staff were very helpful and proffered a wealth of resources - WiFi, laundry, electric bicycles, shower facilities, even marina -sponsored social events, including Tuesday evening yoga and Friday morning breakfast. And it is the cheapest marina we have come across yet in the Med. Perhaps we’d stay longer than one night... As much as we love life on the hook, there is something to be said for the convince of being able to hop on and off the boat whenever you need, and there is definitely a comfort to sleeping through the night without worry of your anchor dragging.
We then ventured into the back streets of town to track down the two sail repair people who seemed the most reputable. After locating and speaking to both, neither seemed to have availability to help us. It happened to be the week in August where just about everyone in France is on holiday, sailmakers included. We managed to convince one of them, a guy named Philippe who seemed to be a one-man outfit, to take pity on us and agree to try to squeeze us in. He didn’t speak English, but with my French and a lot of hand gesturing ,we seemed to reach an accord. He agreed to come by Florence later that evening to take a look at the sail and see what he could do, though warned that he wouldn't be able to effect a repair before the following Tuesday. As we had no other options, this timeframe would have to do.
While waiting for his visit, we decided to spend our afternoon checking out Cap d’Antibes. We discovered a long pedestrian path that stretched along the entire coastline of the peninsula called the Sentier du Littoral, translated as the "cliff walk." It seemed a great way to explore the coastline while stretching our legs. We learned that these types of public coastal walkway stretch across most of the southern coast of France and are the result of a law passed in the 1980s that claimed the French coastline back from private property owners and open to the public. Since the passing of this legislation, public pathways have been built along the coastlines. This walk around the peninsula of Cap d’Antibes was breathtaking - very dramatic and not for the faint of heart in certain parts, with narrow paths and stairways carved into the steep cliffs and with many jagged rocks to scramble over. There are numerous signs designating the pathway as forbidden in stormy weather, which I can understand. Of course all of the properties along the bay have now built stronghold-like fortifications separating them from the public coastline, so we’d have to use our imaginations to speculate on what monstrous chateaus might lurk behind. We made it around the tip of the peninsula to a bay called Fake Money Bay, also referred to as Billionaire’s Bay. We could understand where it got its name - it was absolutely stunning, a bay surrounded by tall cliffs with stately villas perched atop. The bay itself was chock full of boats, and the sea bed looked to be mostly rocks, so we were glad to have reached this spot on foot rather than on Flo. We found a little perch on the rocks where we stopped for a picnic and a swim before heading back towards town.
Philippe our sail dude showed up at our berth around 6 PM. We managed to unfurl the whole sail in situ so he could take a look. Thankfully it was not windy. Philippe took one look at the sail and didn’t waste any time in telling us it was crap. We obviously knew the battens had become twisted, and there was the not insignificant issue of the rip at the foot. He insisted that regardless of those issues, the sail was showing its age. After 9 years, it was at the end of its life and had become misshapen, in addition to suffering UV damage. He was not surprised that we were having trouble furling it in and out, as the leech of the sail was stretched and the battens were getting caught in the furling system. He said he could attempt a fix by repairing the tear and then attempting to straighten the battens, but believed that our problems would persist. Alternatively, he could remove all the battens and cut and reshape the sail in order to remove some of the stretch in the leech. Hmmmm - this we had not considered and were a bit wary to do, as cutting the sail seemed somewhat drastic. We wondered if we'd potentially lose performance without the battens and with less ail area. Philippe explained that the battens were mostly to help maintain the shape of the sail and did not necessarily enhance speed, especially not the light battens that we had. And since the sail had already lost its shape, the battens weren't doing anything at this stage except getting snagged in the mast. He insisted that even if he cut the sail, we would lose minimal performance and would probably not even notice it. We decided to think on it and let him know what we wanted to do later that evening. In the meantime, we needed to get the sail down off the mast and into Philippe's truck. This was a project and for the first time gave us an appreciation for just how huge Florence's mainsail is. Firstly, we needed to slide the battens out one by one, some of which were about 20 meters long. Once they had been removed, we didn’t really know what to do with them other than to line them up on the quai and hope people wouldn’t trip over them. Then we rigged a pulley system to pull the sail down from the top of the mast. Trying to fold this enormous, bulky sail into something that one person could carry and slide into the boot of a van was interesting, clumsy work, and by the time we were done we had amassed a small audience on the pontoon wondering what on earth we were doing.
Once Philippe had carted away our sail, we discussed our options. While both hesitant to cut the sail, Philippe had been insistent that if we didn't reshape it, we would encounter the same furling problems again. Not being able to furl the sail in or out, especially in strong winds, was a safety hazard we were not prepared to continue taking. Some preliminary research on the pros and cons of battens came back with mixed reviews, with some sailors deeming them essential, some claiming they are more hassle than anything else, especially for in-mast furling. In the end, we decided to allow Philippe to remove the battens and cut the sail in the hope that we would be able to furl it in and out without issue, even if we sacrificed a bit of speed. Philippe said he could get the sail back to us by Tuesday, so that gave us another week to kill in Antibes. It's times like this when we are thankful for the flexibility we'd built into our schedule, as it would not be an issue to postpone our continuation along the Riviera for a week. And as far as places to be stuck, Antibes seemed a great little town that had really impressing us so far. This downtime also gave us the opportunity to get more nagging boat jobs done and to continue planning for our Atlantic crossing. I can't believe it's only a few months away!
Once Philippe had left, it was getting on towards 8:30 PM, and we weren't really in the mood to cook or go out to dinner. We remembered a little beach we had seen on the other side of the marina and thought that grabbing a take out pizza and some wine would make for a perfect beach picnic while watching the sun set. It ended up being the best and cheapest date night, and we both revelled in it. I still can’t get over how cheap decent wine is in France. It's cheaper than water!
We enjoyed another few days in Antibes, getting our ducks in a row for our Atlantic crossing and working on our revised itinerary for getting to Monaco, Corsica, then Sardinia before heading back west in mid-September. We also took advantage of marina living and its proximity to the old town, which continued to impress with its versatility. Sure, it has the token touristy bits, but all in I found it more approachable than St. Tropez and with more than a few hidden gems of restaurants and bars. One such place was a small wine bar we discovered called Jeanne. Run by 2 sisters, the place serves small plates accompanied by an all-natural and very well-curated wine list (if you haven’t guessed already, I love natural wine). The front is open to the street and has only a handful of tables split over 2 levels. We got a wonderful recommendation for a bottle of red accompanied by probably a few too many small plates.
On our final full day in Antibes, we finally made it to the famous Picasso Museum that had been high on my list of things to do while here. The museum, set in an old town hall that Picasso had used as his studio for a year, houses the largest single collection of works by the artist. Picasso ended up gifting most of the art he created during his tenure in Antibes to the museum, which is an impressive collection and has subsequently been subsidised by many of his other paintings, sculptures, and sketches. Looking out from the windows of the museum into the bay, you can see the very landscapes that so inspired Picasso during his time in Antibes and which he painted over and over again. Antibes was a prolific period for him and was apparently one of his favourite places to paint. Being able to experience his art in the very place that inspired it I felt really added to the experience. I would highly recommend the museum if ever you find yourself in Antibes. That evening, we decided to celeb rate the imminent return of our mainsail with one last date night in town. We went to a tiny restaurant called L'Arazur tucked away on a hidden side street. The food was amazing and classically French, while the service was decidedly un-French. Our server was lovely and didn't hesitate to repeat everything she said twice, once in French to help me continue to learn, and once in English so Stephen didn’t have to rely on my often rough translations to know what he was getting ("I think she said it was some type of beef with some type of sauce? I don’t know, it sounded good”). It was also one of those lovely places that give you a handful of amuse bouches in addition to an enormous break basket for free. Another lesson in boat life: anything free is good. After eating more than our fill and reminiscing on what a lovely stop Antibes had been, we went back to the marina for one final night, full, happy, and hopeful that our sail would work the following day.
The next day, we were up early to tackle the refit! There was no need, as Philippe was 6 hours late, but we weren't stressed - if our sail came back functional and would furl appropriately, all would be good with the world. So we asked the marina to stay for one more night and waited for Philippe to arrive. He eventually turned up and helped us re-rig our not new but hopefully improved mainsail back into the mast. Stephen and I held our breaths for the moment of truth and were beyond relieved to see the sail furl out pretty smoothly! It looked slightly smaller in surface area than it had been, but not hugely, and it definitely appeared more flexible for the removal of the battens. We would just have to see what effect the repair would have on performance, if any. That night, we were thankful to be in the marina, as there were thunderstorms raging all across the coast that night, including at our intended anchorage in Cap Ferrat. The forecast had improved moderately the following morning. At this point, as much as we’d liked Antibes, we were more than ready to move on. We slipped the lines and piloted Florence slowly out of the marina. We headed out into the bay and set our course for Sant Jean de Cap Ferrat, which was a short 20 mile sail up the coast. And now for the moment of truth… Will the sail work? Stay tuned.
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