Mallorca

At 100km by 75km, Mallorca is not exactly enormous. It is varied and interesting, offering far more than just beaches and nightlife. After a 13hour crossing I was glad to see Palma bay, especially as the autopilot had gone down again. We headed into Cala Portals just before sunset and decided to stay, despite the uncomfortable swell that rolled into this small and very popular cove.

The next day we swam, snorkelled and explored the man-made caves that dominate the cala. The swell had gone and the weather was perfect. In the day time there were 32 boats squashed into the size of 2 football pitches. No wonder they anchor with all fenders out! But at night only 4 remained, leaving it peaceful, charming and without the fear of swinging into anyone else as the wind changes direction.

Cala Nova, close to the expensive Palma marinas, is a rolly anchorage but perfect for catching a bus to Palma and minutes from a supermarket. From here we explored the Arab baths and Cathedral, wandered aimlessly around the old town and after many a frustrating phone call had the autopilot repaired once more. We spent a few days touring the south-western tip of the island and in Puerto Ponsa another yachtsman shouted over to ask if Kluut was a Wanderer. We were delighted that someone had recognised her but even more than that, this man anchoring behind us was Giselle Allers, the third owner of Wanderer lll, the boat design on which Kluut is based. We would have been thrilled if he had accepted our invite aboard but alas he was too busy and left early the next morning without filling in our guest book.

Our trip to Puerto Andraitx was stunning as we sailed right underneath some of the steepest cliffs we have seen. What you see above the water must be what there is below it, sheer cliffs heading straight down. Speed boats don’t seem to understand the importance of not getting too close though and have spoiled such moments on a number of occasions, by their wash throwing us off course and making us resemble a cork bobbing about in the water. If only they would look behind after passing with all engines roaring.

Las Illetas was our home for 10 days and we marvelled at how boats of all descriptions anchor at close quarters and mostly without incident. It was here that we fully understood why fenders are deemed as essential a part of kit as chain, to the locals, when anchoring. In an anchorage no larger than one football pitch we counted 82 boats squeezed in so tightly that there is hardly room for two sets of fenders between them. These boats arrive, rush to select a spot almost the same the size as their vessel, before anyone spots it, drop all their chain in a heap and then, as the text book suggests, ’go astern slowly in order to ensure the anchor is properly dug in laying a length of chain 4 times the depth of water along the sea bed.’ …… No they just throw out some fenders and go ashore, leaving their pyramidic pile of chain in their memory. Consequently when the wind picks up speed so too do these boats, dragging across the crowded anchorage endangering themselves and neighbouring boats. An immaculate 100m long blue hulled charter boat in Las Illetas was a casualty of one such anchoring technique. The paid crew wasted no time in jumping aboard the oncoming vessel headed straight for their pristine bow with anchor slowing it down as much as the decorative lacy train behind its bride, repositioned and re-anchored it well away from their shimmering hull, before the captain reappeared from shore sometime after lunch. But as usual most of the fender brigade depart after sunset leaving the cruisers behind to enjoy these striking surroundings. We also became the victim of an anchoring incident here when a 40ft steel boat crashed into our bow as the wind took it out of the control of the weakest link who had been left at the helm. Its anchor chain tangled around ours causing the two boats to sway together. Steel is much harder than wood and had we not been able to disentangle the chains quickly we would have come off much worse and dragged our own anchor. They left saying only ‘Good Morning’ - like it was the most normal thing in the world. Perhaps they wake up all their neighbours in this manner.

From here we took the most fascinating, if slightly uncomfortable, train ride to Soller on the northern coast of Mallorca. Sitting on wooden slats we were rocked and jolted through the Sierra da Tramontana which afforded panoramic views and picturesque scenery of orange groves, olives and lemons that lined our route and once in Soller we boarded a tram to the port. An idyllic way to see some of Mallorca’s landscape.

By mid July we were in Porto Colom enjoying a local festival during which a harbour full of local boats dressed overall and were blessed for the next season. They paraded around the anchorage and then slowly one by one disappeared out to sea. When they returned they loosed themselves of the ropes that tied them together, turned tail and flew back out at speed flags and banners flapping about in their wake. We met up with one of our cruising friends here and enjoyed a BBQ together while catching up on the highlights of what we’d been through since we last met. But nothing was to prove to be worse for Dave than that night, as he leant over the side of the boat to let go their tender in the early hours and heard his varifocals plop into the dark sea. Two diving bottles and a great deal of searching throughout the next day proved unsuccessful as this one was of the only anchorages we’d been to where thick weed and mud lurked beneath.

We also met another couple who we had not seen since Gibraltar and that I find one of the greatest pleasures about this life. No matter how long it has been since we met folk it is like we only saw them yesterday when we catch up on our news and adventures.

After Mallorca, we motored over to the last of the Balearics, Menorca and anchored just outside Cuitadella as the harbour there was too full.

Pip and Dave