Formentera

Talamanca Bay is a wide bay with a pine forest on one side and a peninsula separating us from the very busy port of Ibiza on the other. From here we got both pieces of equipment repaired and were able to tour the infamous Ibiza town, without spending our entire cruising budget on one berth. We had been warned that prices were more expensive in the islands than on the mainland but were still shocked at the berthing fees for a 9m boat for one night. They ranged from 15€ for tying to a buoy with no facilities at all, to over 70€ which included water, some of which was drinkable, and electricity. If we had had to rely on such places we would have been out of pocket before reaching Mallorca, but thankfully we have been able to anchor, albeit sometimes in very crowded circumstances, almost everywhere we have been.

We both loved Ibiza town, despite its reputation for being loud and unruly, attracting those who would partake in drunken and outrageous behaviour as well as the rich and famous. The old walled town is quite beautiful with cobbled streets that twist and turn upwards to the Cathedral and down through the old shops to the quay buzzing with the life that comes with a town highly dependant on tourism. It, like all of the Balearics, is full of history having been conquered and recaptured on a mighty scale by peoples of all nationalities. By day the town had a charm that was only superseded by the fascination of being able to people watch by night. We sat in a street side café and watched as life of all colour, size and persuasion past us by. Our world is so rich and yet our blinkered eyes tell us that what is different to us is not right and therefore unacceptable. How wise we would be if we could live side by side with those who are not the same as us. Ibiza is a place of extravagance and extroverts, fashion and fashion victim, and lots of life.

Next anchorage was the busy by day and steeply sided Cala Llonga, where we met a lone Frenchman sailing a copy of Robin Knox Johnson’s boat, Suhaili.

We invited him aboard for a sundowner and exchanged tales of our experiences afloat lubricated by our entire stock of beer and whisky. As with many such encounters in this lifestyle we may never see this man again as he left to continue his journey the following day, but we will never forget him as Dave now bears the imprint of our oil lamp that he inadvertently sat on, while getting in the dinghy to row this man ‘home’.

Eulalia, the second largest town, was our next port of call and far less crowded with only 3 boats anchored off the beach. An obviously tourist part of the island where nearly every café bill board offers ‘Real English Breakfasts’ and every meal comes with chips. The need for attending Spanish evening classes before coming here for your hols are negated by the ease with which locals speak and advertise all their amenities in English.

We walked to the Puig at the top of the town and found something more Spanish, a group of small whitewashed houses huddled around a 16^th century church and cemetery, charming and unspoilt and were able to catch a glimpse of the only river in Ibiza, which at one time, according to the locals, had water rushing along its length.

Our final stop was Portinatx, a well protected natural harbour, where we spent a couple of days doing the odd job and relaxing before heading to the largest of the Balearics, Mallorca.

Pip and Dave