We have had some problems summoning each other this week, our friends Eric and Rosamund, commonly known as Rick and Roz are onboard, so there has been a lot of “Roz” , “Yes”, ” No the other Roz”. But we seem to be communicating okay and Roz brings with her other talents, she has been cutting and coloring my hair brilliantly for years and I have been holding out for her visit for weeks.
They arrived in Palma on Saturday and keen to show them the fantastic scenery on the North Coast we headed straight for Cala Foradada – the hole in the wall cove. On our previous visits the Cala has been very quiet, the sea is perfect and the cliffs spectacular, there are no roads, no beach, no buildings. So we were surprised to find Seawolf a 190ft motor yacht anchored there when we arrived and even more surprised to be joined by the 450ft motor yacht Rising Sun during the evening, Google tells us she is the eleventh largest Superyacht in the world. The next morning yet another huge motor yacht arrived, the 230ft Tallisman. What on earth was going on? What or where around Foradada is there we mere mortals don’t know about?
Not invited to what ever this exclusive event was, we sailed on to the far north east corner of the Island. The sea was quite choppy and the first Cala we entered, we decided, was very pretty but too uncomfortable to stay, we motored a couple of miles further down the coast but the next bay was similar, we considered bringing our sail to Menorca forward to the night instead of the next morning but there was very little wind. In the end we motored accross to the far side of Bahia de Pollensa where it was more sheltered.
In the morning we had a better opportunity to appreciate where we were, Cala del Pinar, was another quiet, pretty cove. The land ashore belonged to the military and off limits to civilians but not to the booted eagle that flew over us and then stood perched on a branch drying himself for most of the morning. A shaggy fellow, about eighteen inches tall, with a white coloured breast and speckled thrush like back and wings.
We were glad we had waited until the morning for the thirty mile crossing to Menorca, the wind was blowing F3-4 on the beam, a great sail. Eric is joining us for the ARC and we had been discussing swimming off the boat mid-Atlantic and how scary that might feel, so living for the moment we thought we would try it. As we approached the Menorcan coast the wind had died and so we heaved-to (a method of backing the sails to stop the boat). Not quite mid-ocean, just three miles off Menorca and not 1000’s of metres deep just 67, but still, not the beach. The boat was drifting at about half a knot and we were surprised how quick that appeared when you tried to swim towards it and yes, Jo Robinson, it did cross my mind what might be lurking in the depths beneath my feet. Then to maintain British heaved-to tradition we made a cup of tea, bringing very puzzled expressions from a couple of passing Spanish yachts.
Cliffs on the Northern coast of Menorca are much lower and softer than the ones we have come from and the anchorages full of sailing rather than motor boats, so everywhere has a gentler feel. We are currently anchored in Puerto de Fornells. A small seaside town of white cubed buildings, inside a deep inlet, full of yachts.
There is a busy sailing club here and we spent an entertaining afternoon, between hair cuts, watching laser dingies racing and capsizing in the brisk breeze. Everywhere we have been in Spain, from A Coruna to the here in the Balearics, we have seen youngsters sailing in all conditions, the British sailing team may need to look out in a few years time.