October 16, 2019
We had a fairly straightforward overnight sail from Palma to the east coast of Ibiza. After piloting out of the complicated marina area, we got the sails out and essentially just pointed due west. The wind was strong enough to sail it on a beam, though we wouldn’t be breaking any records. We resisted the urge to turn the engine on though, as it really didn’t matter what time we made landfall the following day. The big question was where to anchor upon arrival. After our experience with the lovely, more remote north coast of Ibiza, we were keen to get back there and drop the hook in the same bay we had made our home for a few days on our way east. However, it appeared that Ibiza wasn’t safe from the mistral either, nor from the accompanying swell, which appeared to be making all the anchorages on the north side of the island unbearable. We’d have to look for other options. It would take too long to go all the way around the north side to nip down to the west or south side of the island. And there was no chance in hell we were making the same mistake we'd made last time in attempting the passage through the gap between Ibiza and Formentera where the high speed ferries nearly killed us. The only spot that looked reachable and semi-protected from the northerly wind was a small bay on the east side of the island that was unfamiliar to us but hopefully safe. We arrived there around 8 AM the next morning and were thankful to find what looked like a nice, uncrowded little anchorage. While it seemed semi-protected from the wind, it unfortunately wasn’t from the swell. This was going to be a rolly spot, but it seemed the best of a bunch of bad options for the time being. We dug the hook in some sand and decided to attempt a nap before venturing ashore.
Stephen’s close friend from London and his girlfriend had arrived on the island that morning and we were keen to see them, though hopefully not in a zombie state. A nap however was not happening. We were getting knocked around like we were in a pinball machine. Exhausted or not, it was time to get off the boat. We decided to swim ashore, hoping the water would wake us up. The beachfront itself was proof it is possible to do Ibiza on the cheap - there were a couple very basic hotels and accompanying bars along the waterfront. It wasn’t the most picturesque beach we’d seen, but it was quiet and you could get an aperol spitz for 6 euros. Happy days. We decided to try to further amp up our energy levels by going on a run up through the cliffs that lined the bay - perhaps an ambitious endeavor given how little sleep we’d gotten on our crossing. The ascent was painful, but we were rewarded at the top with some spectacular views out over the bay and of Florence below - the only boat in the anchorage (perhaps that should have been a warning we were not in the best of spots).
We figured we had 3 or so days in Ibiza to hang out, resting up and enjoying what would be the final days of our Med adventure before continuing the passage west through the Gibraltar strait and then down the African coast to Tenerife where we would prep Florence for the Atlantic. We wanted to make the most of it. October is typically my favourite time to be in Ibiza. The weather is still warm during the day, just getting a touch chilly at night, and while the crowds are largely gone, most of the seasonal venues are still open until mid-month. It’s everything I love about the island minus the crowds :) We ventured into the old town that night to meet up with our friends Stuart and Lucy for dinner. Stephen lit up as soon as he saw his old buddy - really the first time he’d seen any of his friends since our journey began. Bromance vibes that evening were strong as we caught up and laughed over tapas and red wine. As undeniably awesome as I am, especially 24 bloody 7 (cough, subjective?), I can understand how important it was for Stephen to have his buddy make the effort to come see us. Love you Stu and Lucy!
The following morning after another sleepless night that involved rolling all over kingdom come (at one point, I rolled right off the bed and hit my head on the floor - nice), we decided we needed to move the boat and find another option, any other option. A strong easterly was also forecast to roll in that afternoon making the anchorage even more unsafe. A thorough perusal of Windy revealed that nowhere on the island was really a great spot to be. The latest mistral had largely blown passed the island but had left in her wake a mess of confused swell that seemed to be hitting the island from all angles. We could potentially venture all the way south and have a fairly comfortable spot for that night, though there was a southerly blowing in the following day that would mean we would have to move all the way back up north the following night. This was like Corsica all over again! Nowhere was safe. We decided on an anchorage on the north side of the island that, while not completely sheltered from the swell, seemed again the best of a bunch of poor options. At least it was close - it was about a 90-minute sail around the north tip of the island, and with the wind on our beam, it was really pleasant and helped dust away the sickly malaise that had crept over us during the course of the rocky night. Our destination was called Cala San Miguel, which turned out to be a really beautiful little cove, cut deep into the coast. There were a handful of other boats already anchored, but there appeared to be enough sand to find a good spot for Flo. The anchorage was definitely still rolly, but it had to be better than where we were the night before, right? We dinghied to the closest beach which looked deserted save for a tiny little beach bar and a sole dirt road winding down from the cliffs. We had our friends pick us up there for dinner, though we realised pretty soon after beginning the journey back along the unlit, bumpy dirt road that attempting the return journey at night would be impossibe. Time fore a new plan. They drove us back, and we dinghied to the main beach which was a bit further away but close to the main road. Boat life always involves a bit of improvisation and trial and error! We made it to a place called Hostel La Torre in time for sunset. This is Stuart’s favourite place on the island and arguably the best place to watch a sunset on the island, as it’s east facing and looks out over some really interesting rock formations off the coast. With chilled beats in the background and cocktails in hand, we perched on the rocks and enjoyed one of our final Mediterranean sunsets. We had time to squeeze in a bromantic photo shoot of the lads as well. Success.
From there, we moved on to my favourite restaurant on the island, a formerly hidden gem called La Paloma that’s tucked away in the middle of the island in a lovely garden. It’s a family owned place, with a handful of tables strewn under the trees with fairy lights giving the place a magical glow. I first went to this restaurant with Stephen back in 2017 on our first mini break together and remember thinking for the first time at that dinner that I might just be falling in love with him [insert barfing noise here]. OK, enough sap. The word has apparently gotten out about the restaurant, as it’s hard to get a table there in season. Though in October we had no problem. We kept the revelry light that night, as we planned to take our friends sailing the following morning and didn’t want to tempt seasickness. Back on the boat and exhausted beyond description, we were dismayed to discover the anchorage was no improvement over the previous night. We were forced to lower the saloon table and attempt sleep in the saloon, which, while large impossible, at least kept us from rolling off the bed. I tried a technique of collecting every single pillow on the boat and attempting to wedge myself in. It didn’t really work but definitely had Stephen laughing at me as I wriggled around in my cocoon of fluff.
We awoke (sort of) the next morning early to spruce up the boat and buy some snacks and drinks in preparation for hosting our friends on a sail that morning. The plan was to take them on about a 2 hour sail down the west coast of the island, anchoring outside a place called Cala Bassa where we’d stop at the Cala Bassa Beach Club for some lunch. That was the plan at least… It went slightly awry. Lucy feared she might be prone to seasickness and started feeling queasy on the dinghy ride to the boat. We foolishly decided to persevere and took Florence out of the cove and into open water on the north side of the island. While we’d checked the sea state on Windy before the trip, the forecast seemed to have seriously underestimated the severity of the waves. It was a very choppy ride, even for those with the most ironclad of stomachs. Even I was feeling a bit queasy as Florence lurched over wave after wave. This was NOT the pleasant day sail we had hoped for our friends. Lucy began looking very green and didn’t take long to become violently ill. We would need to abort this plan, and fast. There is no worse feeling in the world than being seasick, and I felt so terrible for taking her out in these miserable conditions. The only thing to do was get the boat back into the cove and anchored up again and to get Lucy to shore as quickly as possible. I did my best to keep the sea behind us as we motored back to make the motion of the boat less sick-inducing, but it was moistly in vain. We eventually got her back on the beach, where she promptly collapsed on the sand. Stuart took her back to their hotel so she could sleep it off. I felt beyond horrible for putting her in that position, albeit unwittingly. I had wanted it to be such a nice day showing our friends Florence and giving them a taste of this sailing life of ours. Instead, it was an absolute horror show, and I felt as if we’d ruined her holiday. Stephen and I cleaned up the boat in silence, still rocking around violently in this miserable anchorage. After 3 nights of interrupted if any sleep plus a rocky afternoon cleaning up sick off our boat, I was reaching my breaking point. There is a point where exhaustion takes over and you are reduced to tears. I’d reached that point. We just needed a night off the boat! One thing we had not given ourselves recently was a break. We decided it would be healthy for our mental state (and our marriage!) to get off the boat for a night. Desperate times… We phoned a hotel that was only a 5-minute taxi away in the next bay over called Hacienda, and they thankfully had a room for us. I wasted no time throwing a couple things in a bag and launching myself headfirst into the dinghy. I love you, Flo, but I need to get off of you before I murder someone, most likely my husband!
We arrived at Hacienda, and stepping into the air-conditioned and eucalyptus-scented lobby felt like entering an oasis in the desert. We were shown to our room, which was clean and lovely and most crucially had a bed that didn’t move. Stephen was wise enough to recognise a woman on the verge of a mental breakdown, so he kindly left me for an hour or so to take a long luxurious shower and to lounge about in my robe for a bit in solitude. Meanwhile, he took refuge in the bar with a book. While we had never left Florence alone on anchor overnight and weren’t entirely comfortable with it, we knew rationally she was well-anchored and wouldn’t go anywhere. Frankly, we were both too exhausted to really care. We were both asleep within a nanosecond of our heads hitting the pillow and slept the still sleep of the dead.
I woke up the next morning quite literally feeling like a new person. It’s amazing what a difference even one night of sleep makes! We spent a lazy morning sipping coffee in our robes looking out at the ocean, which still looked pretty rough. We admitted to each other our lesson learned from the passed few days that every once in a while, everyone needs a break. As amazing as the boat life is, it provides very little opportunity to ever really switch off. There is always something to be worried about, whether it be the batteries or the anchor or the weather or something breaking or sometimes all of the above. What we don’t want is to grow to resent our situation, or each other, so perhaps it’s important every once in a while, especially after challenging periods when sleep has been tough to come by, to work in a bit a break, even if just for a night.
We returned to Flo in the early afternoon, relieved to find her exactly where we’d left her, though still pitching about energetically. It was definitely time to move. Our plan was to depart for Gibraltar the following day - incidentally my birthday. We figured if we moved down the west side of the island and anchored off of the San Antonio area, we would be protected from the worst of the wind that night which was scheduled to ravage the north, and then be in a good jumping off point for our journey west. So we upped anchor and were off. After an hour of so of difficult beating to windward, we rounded the tip of the island and the wind came nicely on our stern. We hadn’t done any downwind sailing in quite a while but assumed this would be mostly the case for our crossing to Tenerife and then across the Atlantic, so we should try playing with a suitable downwind rig. We managed to gull wing out the headsails in a manner that allowed us to make above 6 knots in about 15 knots of breeze. It felt like we were barely moving, as sailing downwind dramatically decreases your apparent wind speed. It was such a peaceful way to travel! I could get used to this type of sailing. We made it down to San Antonio and realised our chosen anchorage was not gonna work - it was a total wind funnel and really small. Time to look for something else. We ventured further inshore and found a wide bay off the town that was uncrowded and looked to be all sand. This would do for the night. San Antonio itself is not the most charming town in ibiza, but it is very close to Hostel la Torre, so we decided to head there for one last sunset and to call it a mini-birthday celebration, as we’d spend my actual birthday on the open sea making our way to Gib. I had one aperol spritz before calling it early in preparation for our 3-day crossing.
Happy birthday to me! We were greeted in the early morning by a large thunderstorm that was barreling quickly towards us, darkening the whole sky. It was immediately clear our initial plan of setting sail west that morning was no longer a safe option, nor was staying where we were. The storm seemed to be tracking south, so our only option it seemed was to head back north to our old anchorage in San Miguel which while likely still miserable was at least out of the eye of the storm. After a somewhat harrowing sail back north, trying to outrun the black clouds that were creeping ever closer, we managed to make it back to San Miguel and got the hook dug in again. Now - how to salvage the rest of this birthday? Staying on board was not an option, as Florence was once again pitching about comically. So we went ashore. I figured endorphins couldn’t hurt at a time like this, so we decided to go for a long run up through the hills and to the neighbouring cove of Cala Benirras. This is a cool little place that is known to be hippy Mecca on the island, where sometimes hundreds of people gather at sunset with their drums to beat in the sunset together. It appeared the hippies had left for the season, as the beach was deserted. We ran back and decided to continue the exertion with a hike around the other side of Cala San Miguel. We hiked up to a cool little fort perched right on top of the cliffs looking out at the sea, which provided some absolutely spectacular views. This birthday was turning out to be alright after all, and perhaps a lot better than it would have been on passage as originally intended.
On the hike back down, we took a bit of a wrong turn and found a tiny cove with a rocky beach and a weird-looking beach shack. We decided to stop for one birthday drink, but quickly regretted it when, trying to find a bathroom, we wandered around back and saw that behind the shack was what appeared to be a rusted-out junkyard that was surrounded by police tape warning civilians to KEEP OUT… OK then, time to move on!
That night back on the boat was once again a washing machine experience, so we again attempted sleeping in the saloon. After not much sleep, we were up early, as we needed to start making tracks west. The weather was thankfully much more settled and allowed for a hopefully smooth departure for our journey to Gib, which should take about 3 days. We wanted to skip mainland Spain and head straight for Gib in an attempt to make it down to the Canary Islands sooner rather than later. The weather in the Med seemed to be deteriorating quickly, and as wonderful as our summer sailing around here had been, it was time to leave. We had some serious tracks to make down to Gib, then through the straight, and down the coast of Africa to Tenerife. We are nervous, excited and ready. Let’s do this!
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