Leaving La Palma, returning to Las Galletas (Tenerife)

Leaving Tazacorte wasn’t easy. This place really has the best climate on earth: sunny, not too hot, not too cold, seldom overcast, hardly any rain, and all this throughout the year. And most of all: we met some really nice people here. “Then”, you will probably ask, “why not buy a house and stay there?”. Believe me, we would, were it not for the Germans: they have also discovered this island and they are prepared to pay a ridiculously high price to own a house here, and thus … the recession has had no influence whatsoever on the price of the real estate on this island.
So on we go. Xana had to catch a plane to Porto to surprise and assist her mother who was convalescing after surgery and the best way to catch a plane, is to be at the airport when it is about to leave. This airport being in Tenerife, we decided to leave for that island. We had already postponed our departure date with one day because of the weather forecast (‘mar gruesa’ -or ‘gruesome sea’- and wind with peaks of 7Bft didn’t exactly sound inviting) and so we came to cast off at 1545 on march 20th.
A (new) friend of ours (which we met in the marina in Tazacorte), Martin, left the marina at the same time and was heading for Cabo Verde.

Martin (the tiny guy you can barebly see at the helm station), going to the fuel station with Gert and then solo to Cabo Verde

We chatted a bit on the VHF while we were still in range, and both complained about the lack of wind, which I expected to increase once we got near Fuencaliente (the south tip of La Palma). And boy was I right! When we reached ‘punta gruesa’ -gruesome point- we saw the sea in front of us changing from calm to pretty wild with foam on nearly every wave top. We quickly reefed down the mainsail, rolled the genoa halfway out, and then we were hit. The boat started heeling about 30 degrees and waves started hammering us, making the boat heel even more. The gangway was more under water then above. I offered Xana to return to Tazacorte and wait another day, but that wasn’t really an option because she would then have to go from the boat immediately to the airport without any rest, and so we continued, hoping for the best.
The weather forecast had been: mar gruesa diminuenda durante el dia (gruesome sea, getting better during the day) and 5 to 6 Bft, also diminishing during the day. Apparently the sea and the wind hadn’t read that forecast and didn’t know they were supposed to ease a bit and thus began a horrible night.
The first half hour we felt like being in a washing machine, with the boat getting tossed about by waves that seemed to come from every direction. One moment our foot rail was under water and the next we were picked up by a wave and then thrown of it. I was quite happy to have a sturdy steel boat so I didn’t have to worry about the boat being able to withstand this incessant pounding. Then the sea got a bit more structured, and waves started coming from one direction only. The wind also seemed to ease a bit, although it was still a good force 6. This continued for about 3 hours, during which I managed to convince Xana to go inside to stay warm and rest a bit. But to reach La Gomera we had to sail through another wind acceleration zone where another 15 knots are added to the already appreciable wind speed. The wind-generator (which BTW doesn’t generate wind but electricity) went in overdrive to a point where I was afraid that it would break off or fall apart. And because of the higher wind velocity, the waves got even higher than they already were. Now I was afraid of two things: first of all the survival of the wind-generator and secondly that the predicted calm south of La Gomera wouldn’t be there, which would make it impossible for me to get any rest until we reached Tenerife. It would also make us reach Tenerife before daylight.
But then, all of a sudden the wind died and the sea got calm. I called Xana to take the helm (or rather: to stand watch because the wind pilot was doing all the steering) and quickly went inside to get out of my damp clothes and into a still warm bed. A bit later the engine had to be started because there wasn’t any wind left. We let the engine run at a very low rpm, giving us only 1.5 knots of speed. The goal being to stay in the shadow of La Gomera as long as possible. This succeeded and we didn’t hit the next acceleration zone until daylight. This zone, at the other side of La Gomera, as nothing compared to what had been served to us during the night: the wind was ‘only’ an established force 6 and the sea was not churning, just bobbing and most of all: it lasted for only an hour or so, after which we had to motor the rest of the way to Las Galletas.

PS: sorry, no pictures of this trip … we were a bit busy surviving

(yet again) a German invasion

Yesterday we experienced, for the umpteenth time in history, an invasion by Germans, but unlike on previous occasions they didn’t come on horseback or in glider planes and armored vehicles but in a small armada of yachts (16 in total), pretending to be sailors. And unlike the previous times, they were quite ill-prepared and unorganized and they even announced their arrival in advance.
Following the advice of the great Basil Fawlty, I didn’t mention the war, not even once so I’m pretty sure I got away with it
You might ask something like “How do you know that they weren’t real sailors?” and then I would answer something like “Well …” and give you some examples of the following facts: they didn’t know how to handle their boats, had hardly any idea about the use of mooring lines and springs, and most of all completely lacked the spirit that lives in the sailing community (the spirit that, amongst other things, makes a sailor drop everything he’s holding and get out of his boat to help a fellow sailor arriving on the same pontoon).
The first boat that arrived was about 50ft long and had a crew of 6 (maybe more; counting Germans is not high on my list of favorite occupations) and the “skipper” insisted on backing into the berth, despite the strong gusts of wind (up to 30 knots). Usually I don’t help people backing in because the ones doing so are very good at it and I feel a bit envious because this kind of thing is next to impossible with Smoke, but in this case I made an exception because the marineros (the “do-it-all” of the marina) are very sympathetic guys and they were up to their eyeballs in work with all the boats coming in. The skipper managed to berth his boat diagonally (i.e. aft next to the starboard finger pontoon and fore next to the port finger) and then thought the best thing to do was to set the engine to full speed ahead, while the boat was attached aft, nearly ripping the cleats out of the pontoon. The marineros managed to get him to turn of his engine and let them pull the boat straight. As soon as the boat was securely attached, the entire crew gathered in the cockpit to drink some beer, and they didn’t move an inch while their colleagues were having trouble getting in. This is something that happened on every boat that came in.
The second boat was much shorter (37ft), had a crew of 2 (husband and wife) and also wanted to back in (next to the first one). This seemed to go well, but then, while the boat was only just at the outside end of the finger, the woman handed me a rope (attached to the aft cleat of the boat) and insisted quite strongly that I put it around the cleat at that same outside end of the finger. As she was quite rude, I didn’t argue with her (history has taught us that it’s never a good idea to argue with Germans, although you always win in the end, unless you
happen to be an ancient Roman) and did as she “asked“. The result was quite predictable: the nose of the boat immediately swung to the other side, away from the finger and heading for the boat next to them. Again it were the marineros (and me) that eventually got the boat straight and attached securely. This couple also didn’t lift a finger to help the ones coming after them.
The third one had a very large crew and got into his berth (next to us) nose first. Not much to say about his docking, except that they managed to hit the pontoon with their bow.
The fourth one came in without a problem, and maybe this had something to do with the fact that there were no Germans on board, only Spanish people from the chartering company.
The fifth on managed to hand a rope to a marinero without attaching it to his boat.
After the fifth one, a large pack came in, one after the other, and I only got a general impression of things happening: two near collisions and a lot of pulling and pushing by the marineros to avoid damage as much as possible. The only time I saw someone of one of the already moored boats get up, was when one of their colleagues almost hit their boat. And even then it wasn’t to help the other one, but simply to yell at him.
The last impression I got, just before leaving the marina to join some very nice Palmeros for a dinner in a very beautiful house, set in an incredible scenery in the national park of La Palma, was that of an elderly crewman on one of the boats, standing with a halyard in his hands, trying to figure out where to attach it
Some time later I overheard the lady from the second boat talking to people of the third boat saying that their maneuver was going very well until all of a sudden the nose of the boat turned away without any apparent reason, but that they managed to get in anyway. Being the polite man I am, I didn’t explain to her “You stupid tart, it was your spring that did it. Haven’t you ever heard of action and reaction?”.
The next day (today) they left very early, and having seen them in action, I got out of bed to make sure that they didn’t touch our boat and to see the show. They didn’t disappoint me: 2 boats went out of their berth at about the same time and nearly collided. One of them ended up against the boat of a friend of ours and had to be pushed away. One boat got so close to shore that he was within inches of the underwater boulders and another one motored out of the harbor in reverse.
All in all, I would give a hats off to the marineros and a helmets on to the Germans. Each one of them has earned the certificate of incompetent crew with flying colors.
One thing I almost forgot to mention: there was one German helping moor the first boat, but he was one of the ‘locals’: he’s been in the marina for over a month now and lives on his catamaran on his way to Polynesia. But as it turned out to be … he only did it to be invited on the boat for a drink and didn’t bother about the other ones anymore

Update: this last fellow (Martin) is actually quite a pleasant guy, sharing the same ideas as me on many things (like religion, but don’t get me started on that) and he explained that he was surprised that they were getting out their booze and start drinking while the others were still arriving, and since they didn’t bother to help their ‘comrades’ he had said to himself: “if they don’t help their friends, then why should I bother”, which is quite a reasonably thing to think

A change of plans

This is the beauty -or, according to some, the curse- of not having to mind the time on our journey: our plans can change or be adapted whenever we feel like doing something else.
Because La Palma is so appealing and pleasant, because we feel like there’s much more to explore around these islands, and because it’s just more practical and cheaper to travel from the Canary Islands, rather than from somewhere South of the Caribbean, when the time comes to return to Belgium to get our address-problems solved, we decided to stick around and take our time.
This time will be spent hiking, day-sailing to diving spots, diving, and simply enjoying ourselves.
In April we will make a short round-trip to Belgium to be present when my first grandchild is born and after that we’ll wait for a good weather opportunity to sail to Madeira, visit the islands and return to the Canary Islands.

a sneak preview

When returning to Belgium near the end of June, we’ll leave the boat in Gran Tarajal on Fuerteventura.
Updates to the blog will probably only be done sporadically …

Canary Islands – Part 3

And now for the final part of our visit to the Canary Islands: La Gomera and La Palma (we had to skip El Hierro for reasons of volcanic activity and the possible formation of a new island).

La Gomera

La Palma

El Hierro

We found both islands to be very pretty and friendly and we (or rather: I) think that it would be better to explore them on foot, rather than by car. There are plenty of hiking trails and facilities for the hikers and these trails lead you through dense forests and overwhelming mountainous landscapes. Most tourists we encountered here, are not of the beach-lying kind, but rather the nature-loving, hiking kind .

Steep mountains and lush forests

This green monster attacked Xana in the mountains

Tenerife in the background, San Sebastian de La Gomera down in the centre

In the marina of San Sebastian de La Gomera we assisted in the preparation and start of ‘the toughest rowing competition in the world’: 17 rowing boats with crews ranging from 1, through 2 and 4 to 8 rowers that are trying to row across the Atlantic from La Gomera to Barbados. Hopefully they have done their homework better than the 2 Belgian boys who tried this about a year ago: they ended up near the coast of Brazil

Preparing for the 'toughest rowing race ...'

and the race is on ... at least 2.5 more months to go

We intended to sail to Santa Cruz de La Palma, but were advised against it because of the noise (produced by the generators of cruising ships) and the quite agitated nature of the marina (everybody we spoke to had had one or more mooring lines broken due to the rolling and pitching in the marina). We took this advise to heart and sailed to El Puerto de Tazacorte and haven’t regretted it for a moment: this is by far the most calm, most welcoming, and well-maintained marina we have encountered on the Canary Islands.

enjoy the scenery

Here we learned that I’m not the only ‘fool’ who buys his boat without ever seeing it in real: we met Ludo, a solo sailor from Antwerp, who also bought his in the USA straight from the internet (and a broker) on the basis of -amongst other things- some pictures the broker sent him .

Anton, Gerda (both Dutch), Ludo, and me (from left to right)

In the comments section of one of the other entries, you’ll also find a message from a Scottish gentleman who bought his Pratique (same type as mine) in the Caribbean without going to see her first. So … it’s either the type of boat or the fact of being from Antwerp that makes people act this ‘foolish’ .
And now, we’re getting everything ready to cross to Sal in Cabo Verde, where we hope to arrive just before Xmas.

preparing for Cabo Verde and the Caribbean ... a mosquito net

And one more thing …

Our 'little one' finally got named...

The Canary Islands – part 2

Let me pick up the thread of our traveling where I dropped it: our arrival in Gran Tarajal and our first impressions of the place. Remember this is in no way intended to be objective; you might consider it the contribution of a grumpy old man .

Fuerteventura, not very appreciated by the innocent bystander

Fuerteventura turned out to be a rather dull island where the beaches are being promoted as the main attraction. And, admittedly, they are very nice indeed, with sand that has been flown over from Africa (and that is now being followed by quite a few boat people trying to get into Europe through one of the many backdoors). Unfortunately, these beaches also attract planeloads of tourists of the worst kind: the beach-lying variety. Fortunately they tend to like to be close to their like-minded, and thus are concentrated on relatively small stretches of sand.

One of Coralejo beaches. The flock of beach-lying people obviously prefers another beach

The worst place we have come across can be found on the north tip of the island: Coralejo. In this once small fisher town, the tourist industry has teamed up with building promoters, resulting in an abundance of building activity: innumerable apartment complexes compete in either a most-lack-of-taste or a most-tourists-per-square-meter competition and … many of these complexes are either not finished (and seem to have been abandoned for quite some time) or are empty because there just are too many of them. The most-seen sign in this town reads ‘se vende’ (for sale). And if all this weren’t bad enough … the town is flooded with Dutch :/.

And yet another fantastic beach

The 'cuevas de Ajuy' ... beautiful, but not appreciated by the sunlovers

The best part of this island appears to lie under water, and we had some good SCUBA dives there.

Gran Canaria ... the island without a soul

Next came Gran Canaria. Not the obvious marina of Las Palmas (occupied by the ARC people, remember?), but the more southerly marina of Puerto Rico -a very posh one. This island has sold it’s soul to the tourist industry: the coast line is full of hotels clinging to the rocks and filling every gap in the landscape. Luckily the inland doesn’t appear to attract the same tourist attention, which is quite strange because it offers spectacular views, rides and hikes.

The beauty of Gran Canaria lies within ...

I rest my case ...

But the coastline had been ruined

The mountains, blocking the clouds

Our impression of the marina was further burdened by the attitude of the marina staff: we had contacted the marina office in advance to ask if a berth was available. There was. In fact, there were several but each time someone arrived (after asking in advance), he was told that that was the last one. We talked to people of two boats (not posh ones) that hadn’t reported to the marina office before tying up in a berth, shortly after they had arrived … they were told that no space was available, that the berth they had chosen was reserved by someone who would come later that day (or the next day), and that they had to leave. They left (of course) and thus never found out that no-one ever came in these berths while we were there (for several more days). The berth next to ours remained empty throughout our entire stay there. To say it differently: not a nice marina staff!

Tenerife

In Tenerife you could find us in the marina of Las Galletas, and two distinct visitors did . Yes, you read it correctly: finally someone used our open invitation and visited us. They didn’t come to the island just to see us, but took the opportunity while being there, which is also nice

Sunset in Las Galletas

Tenerife apparently is the island of choice for Belgian tourists: during the first half hour walk in Las Galletas we heard more Flemish than you would when walking through e.g. Borgerhout (people from Antwerp will know what I’m talking about ). There are many tourists, but they haven’t taken over the island (yet?). On this island we noticed the same phenomenon as on Gran Canaria: the weather (temperature, cloudiness, …) difference between the south and the north: these parts are separated by mountains that tend to stop the clouds from passing, resulting in a wet, cloudy and green north and a rather dry and sunny south.

The Teide

A view from the Teide

Notice the breaker in the background

And more spectacular breaking waves (this is in Bajamar)

Plenty of nice diving spots, of which we visited three. One of them, right in the bay of Las Calletas, was occupied by a rather insistent porpoise and several stingrays that have gotten used to divers feeding them.

The insistent porpoise

The same porpoise and some annoyed fish (look at their 'facial' expressions)

Note: if you want to see more pictures, join me on facebook (www.facebook.com/plastiekske)

Some reflections on the ARC (Atlantic Rally for Cruisers)

Gran Tarajal turned out to be a nice place to stay: not very expensive (less than 9 EURO per night), not posh, and by consequence … like-minded sailors, although an obviously lost LPB (large-plastic-boater) occasionally wandered into the marina but then usually left the next day. A fine example of this was an ARC-participant that sailed in one day.

First a word about the ARC: this Atlantic Crossing event was created to aid people who otherwise wouldn’t dare to cross the Atlantic from Gran Canaria to the Caribbean (Santa Lucia). Nowadays this has become a major event with over 200 participants and those participants usually don’t quite excel in sailing or navigational skills. They sail in way too big boats (I still wonder why someone would buy such a big boat when he or she doesn’t feel confident enough to use it to sail across an ocean) and often have an attitude as if the sea belongs to them. They are quite proud of having paid about 3000 EURO to participate in this event and show this by flying a huge ARC-flag (that is included in the price), not realizing that other sailors don’t really like them . One of the reasons they aren’t really appreciated is that the organization (and by consequence … they) monopolize the main marina of Gran Canaria (Las Palmas) during the high season, and every ARC boat that enters another marina thus effectively occupies space for two boats (one in that marina, and one in Las Palmas).

And now the example of the attitude and (navigational) skills of such a participant that entered into the marina of Gran Tarajal: after docking the skipper went to the harbor office to check in, while his partner went to address more important matters … she called the woman on the boat next to them and I overheard this (short) conversation:

ARC woman: “Hi, is there some place where we can eat around here?”

Local: “Yes of course, there are several good restaurants in town”

ARC woman : “Ooooo, there’s a town here?”

Local: “…” (speechless )

Makes me kind of wonder what she’s expecting to find on the other side of the ocean, or how surprised she’ll be when she sees that there are islands with people on them

Adventures with a compressor

In Puerto Calero (Lanzarote) I had a first go at filling our SCUBA tanks using the compressor I bought and installed back in the good old days (read: while the boat was on the hard in Póvoa). This sounds like a simple task, but it actually takes some preparation: the compressor is installed aft of the watermaker (there is a picture of this floating in this blog somewhere) inside the boat, so … logic (and the doctor) dictates that the exhaust fumes should be evacuated (or even better: released somewhere outside the boat) and that the air that we’re going to compress is taken from outside.

The setup necessary to fill a SCUBA tank ...

To achieve this, I bought two things: a long air inlet tube (with a special filter at the entrance) and a long exhaust tube. I bought the first one from the vendor of the compressor and the latter one from a shop specialized in rubber stuff (not your average SM-store that some of you twisted minds are thinking about, but a shop that sells stuff for industrial use). This rubber tube was rated to withstand 200 centigrade and a lot of pressure.
In order to connect these two hoses and lead them outside (taking care that the exhaust is downwind of the air intake), I have to remove the entrance steps (which isn’t such a great deal, but it makes getting in and out of the cabin a bit more challenging); it’s also handy to have a place to put the SCUBA bottle that is being filled. And before starting the compressor, I also have to remove all the stuff that is stored in front, on top and in general close to it.
Anyway, once all this was done, I started the compressor and pretty soon found out that the exhaust apparently got hotter than 200 centigrade … the cabin was quickly filling with a gray smoke and the smell of burning rubber. So … turned off the compressor, opened all hatches and decided to try again later with another exhaust tube – a (flexible) metal one.
Our search for this tube started in a ferreteria (‘iron shop’), where we were told to go to another shop (specialized in outdoor pools, the logic of which escaped me). There they sent us to a shop specialized in (hydraulic) compressors, where we were redirected to another one that specialized in compressor hoses. And finally … that shop sent us to a ship chandler where they had exactly the thing I had in mind.
With the new exhaust tube installed, and having heard the noise the compressor made, we decided to have our bottles filled in a scuba diving center because we didn’t want to risk being thrown out of the marina (the rules in this posh marina in Puerto Calero were quite strict: e.g. you were allowed to hang your linen to dry only if it was ‘discrete’).
Until now (November 20th) we’ve filled our SCUBA tanks in two different marina’s with our compressor: once in Gran Tarajal (Fuerteventura) and once in Puerto Rico (Gran Canaria) and those two occasions form a nice example of the difference in mentality between these marina’s and the type of sailors using them.
First let me paint you the situation in the marina’s: in Gran Tarajal we paid less than 9 EURO per day, and facilities were limited (water and electricity on the pontoons, but no showers available). There were quite some steel boats and with our 35ft we were average sized. In Puerto Rico we paid slightly under 23 EURO and had showers available (not always with warm water though). There were hardly any steel boats and even with 40ft we would have been smaller than average. Another striking thing was that everybody seemed to take off their shoes or sandals and wipe their feet on some carpet before going on board of their boat.
In Gran Tarajal we got two reactions to the noise of our compressor: “not a problem” and “that didn’t take long”. In Puerto Rico we only got an indirect reaction from the other sailors: strange and annoyed looks. Someone from the marina staff passed by, I held up a sign saying “filling SCUBA tanks” and he gave an OK sign. He turned back, got hailed by a neighbor, and returned to signal that I had to stop because the sunset was imminent and no noise was allowed after that :/. So … I continued filling the tanks the next day, and got some more angry looks.
Needless to say … I don’t like people in big plastic boats and when I see sandals on the pontoons, I turn back and look for another place to stay .
I’m also looking for a way do reduce the noise though … it kind of annoys me too

The Canary Islands – part 1

After a 4-day bumpy (or rather: rolling)  ride during which we had to heave to for 6 hours to avoid arriving in the middle of the night, we arrived in paradise.

The first sunset. Bumpy, but beautiful ...

Bumpy means ... the floor is the best place to sleep

sunrise over le Roque Este (lying about 1NM of the coast of Lanzarote and Isla Graciosa)

Dog-tired, but happy to arrive at our destination

Heavenly ...

One could argue that after our experiences in Morocco, everything would look like paradise, but La Isla Graciosa is really something out of the ordinary: there are just two small villages, no paved roads (only ‘dirt roads’, but the clean variety, not the Moroccan one), friendly and easy-going people, hardly any tourists (to be fair: the tourist season had already ended; during the months of July and August the island, having merely 800 inhabitants, is visited by about 70 to 80000 tourists), … When we arrived we were given a berth by a man in a uniform (he turned out to be a ‘vigilante’ – a security guard). Luckily we had made a reservation when we left Mohammedia, because at later times we saw him send away other yachts entering the harbor because they hadn’t. We tied up at the pontoon at 10AM and after going through the motions (i.e. visit the harbormaster and pay our dues -an incredible 66 EURO for 10 nights), we turned in to catch up on the sleep we lost during the crossing (the continuous heavy rolling of the boat had made it nearly impossible to sleep), thus sleeping away most of our first day on the island . The next day we had a rendezvous at 2PM: Dirk, a friend of ours, was coming to the island with slightly over 40 invitees to celebrate his (and Patricia’s -an old friend of his) 50th birthday and they would arrive with the ferry from Lanzarote -which is the only way to reach the island if you don’t have your own boat . The ferry arrived right on schedule and unloaded a gay and joyful (and very white ) group of Belgians .

A bunch of weirdo's arriving on the island

Dirk -the organizer of the event- was working like a Duracell rabbit and got everybody to his or her quarters. We let them settle in, and were invited to join them for dinner, where we met some of the rest of the group. The next day and the day after were one big party (there was also some beach time, but that was just to fill the gaps in between ) where everybody had a great time and also got an overdose of ABBA (the theme of the party was ‘Mamma Mia’).

mamma mia ... dancing queens

Mamma mia, the final scene

Several videos have been made during the parties, but we had to promise to either destroy them or make sure that only the people present got to see them .

and a group of friends leaving ...

This is what it looked like for the ones who were leaving ...

Several days after the group had left the island, we were still recognized by the locals as ‘you were with that happy group, weren’t you?’ (usually in Spanish). Alone again, we visited the beaches, did some snorkeling, hired bikes to visit the island (and were very happy to return the bikes and get some refreshments on a terrace), and met some of the other sailors. We learned that it is quite customary with French and Portuguese sailors to fly the Belgian flag because Belgian legislation concerning pleasure crafts is not as demanding as their national ones, thus saving them plenty of money (e.g. a Belgian boat doesn’t have to be inspected every ‘x’ year). Because the facilities in La Graciosa marina aren’t “complete” (there is no electricity on the pontoons, no hot shower, no wifi, no chandler, … -like I said: heaven ), you don’t find the posh or ‘luxury’ sailors there, but rather people who are -like us- going off the beaten track and are happy with what they have and what they are doing. They’re a great source of information about harbors, anchorages, where to find whatever stuff you need for your boat, places to visit, … and some of them have been staying there for several years already and none of them seems to have plans to soon return to a “normal” life . We’ll probably meet some of them on the road (the Cabo Verde islands is an intermediate destination for most).

Playa de las Conchas, just one of the beaches on the island

the island on the left is for sale for only 9000000 EURO! You aren't allowed to do anything with it when you buy it because it's in a nature reserve

After 10 days we had to leave and thus we set sail to Puerto Calero on Lanzarote, which turned out to give us quite a culture shock when we arrived: Puerto Calero is a purposely built marina with shops (selling nothing but posh brands) and apartments. It is invaded, or should I say “occupied” by loads of Germans and English, and it isn’t exceptional to see men in costume and women in evening dress parading on the quay around dinnertime. We rented a car to do some sightseeing (and visited most of the ‘must-see’ spots on the island),

A giant cactus, made by César Manrique (like most things on the island)

Jameos del agua (by ... César Manrique)

One of the craters in Parque Nacional de Timanfaya (not by César Manrique)

Los Hervideros

El Golfo (what's left of an ancient volcano, black beach, green pool)

A Camel (on the right hand side)

do some shopping (tried to have our empty gas bottle filled, but ended up with an additional -local- bottle) and go diving. This was done in a spot with a beach entry (i.e. you put on your gear and walk down the beach into the water) visited by approximately 50 divers per day. Hence, the fish are quite used to divers and they seem to expect you to feed them and during our safety stop (you’re supposed to stay at a depth of 5m for 3 minutes before you surface again after your dive) we were soon surrounded by them. Because we didn’t have any food to give, some of them started pulling at Xana’s hair, which, I must admit, looked a bit like grass waving in the current. During the dive we also came across a respectably sized grouper (1.5m) but couldn’t get close because he appeared behind and underneath us while we were already going up again .

You have to admit ... that hair looks tasty

Then, one evening, we spotted the ‘bvba Jambers’ just slightly overdressed in a white suit with his wife in an exclusive evening gown and we decided it was time to move on . While sailing out of the marina, we passed his boat and noticed that he doesn’t seem to have a clue about flag etiquette (Paul, if you read this: you’re not supposed to fly your national colors on the opposite side of the courtesy flag). If one ever visits Lanzarote with a yacht: don’t go to Puerto Calero (facilities are very good, but the price is high: 20 EURO per day and much too artificial), but anchor in Arrecife or in front of Playa Blanca.

a (shitty ) hitchhiker on the road to Isla de Lobos ...

Anyway, we dropped anchor on the south side of Isla de Lobos in crystal clear water.

Isla de Lobos (notice the color of the water)

If you’re suffering from vertigo, don’t go there: we anchored in 10m and could see every detail on the bottom. Xana didn’t get much sleep because the boat was rocking a bit, but I slept like a baby and the next day we set sail for Gran Tarajal, where we are now.

Approaching Gran Tarajal

The environment is remotely like La Graciosa (i.e.: inexpensive berth, no showers (not even cold ones), few tourists, few facilities in town), but it is more “developed” and developing (lot of building construction going on).

Morocco …

Asilah and Larache are only 40km apart, but there is a world of difference between them. In Asilah we were anchored in the harbor and were very tranquil.

Smoke lying peacefully near the entrance of the harbor of Asilah

The town itself consists of two parts (like all the towns we visited): an old Medina and a new part. Both parts were very nice to walk through and had a welcoming atmosphere. The Medina was very tidy and the houses were well-maintained.

A clean street in the Medina of Asilah

Just before leaving, Xana took the opportunity to fall down the stairs in the boat … she’s having trouble sitting down since then

In Belgium we would call this a 'hangjongere' (a youngster just hanging around, doing nothing)

On to Larache then. This town has a very large fishing port and we were directed to a wooden pontoon, covered with a rusting (at many places rusted-through) plate on top. The better part (read: the one were the plate wasn’t rusting through) of this was reserved for the royal marine, of which a boat was expected later that day or the following day. Police wanted to know exactly how long we were going to stay (exactly in the sense of: how many hours) and I had to explain to them that this would depend on the weather and that we estimated to stay about 4 days. It actually didn’t really matter what I said, because I had to come to them again anyway just before leaving . As for the pontoon: I would strongly advise against going to Larache if you don’t have a sturdy boat or think you would mind being bumped into any time of day or night by fishing boats coming to load their crew or unload their catch. I still have some pieces of their wood on my bow and a taste of some of their colors on my side.

The Medina was a disaster: houses in decay, not maintained at all, and dirt all over the place. The new part of town was slightly better, although the outskirts could be compared to some of the better favellas of Rio de Janeiro.

One of the few clean streets in the Medina - notice the two houses touching each other

Showers were available in some sort of public shower house (men only, but because it was evening and nobody else was present, an exception was made for Xana) at 10 Dirham per person (about 1 EURO).

Restoration - a tough job after decades of negligence

When the harbormaster came to see us to collect the harbor fee, we decided to leave the next day, although we had only spent 2 days there: we had to pay 248 Dirham per night (slightly over 22 EURO) and this for no facilities at all!

A look into a mosque

If entering Asilah was not for the faint-hearted, entering Rabat was only suitable for people who just had been thoroughly checked and declared in perfect condition by a cardiologist. We were met by a small pilot boat outside the entrance and were directed to follow them in (after having been asked about our draught and maximum speed). We had already noticed that the ocean swell caused large breaking waves in the entrance and way further inside. We did as directed and followed the small pilot as fast as we could (which was about 7.5 knots). I did not dare to look behind me, but heard a wave breaking and moments later we were surfing down that wave. The small boat was in the through between the waves and I was quickly closing in on them with my 13 tons of steel. From where I stood, I saw them disappear below my bow and expected to see pieces of polyester flying around. I tried to steer away and managed to make the boat go sidewards and it wasn’t until then that I saw them reappear. They told me not to worry the next time (they already presumed there was going to be a next time ) and to just stay behind them … they claimed to be able to accelerate fast enough to avoid me . They turned out to be right: there were 2 more ‘next time’ before we were in the more quiet river leading to the marina. It wasn’t until then that the harbormaster notified everybody on the VHF that the marina was closing after us because the entrance was too dangerous (later I heard that last year a yacht had capsized in such conditions).

We were welcomed on the pontoon by the police, who asked me to come with them with the papers and the passports. From the police I went to the Customs and then to the marina office. Each time I had to fill in forms, giving the same information over and over again. Each office made copies of the papers and the passports. All in all, it took more than an hour, but then I could finally return to the boat, where the police was waiting again with a dog (to sniff for interesting stuff). The first problem was: how the hell do we get that huge dog on that boat? I was asked for a step or a small ladder, but didn’t have one. Then I was asked if there wasn’t some sort of door that I could open, so that the dog wouldn’t have to go over the lifelines, but alas … no cigar. Finally the dog was convinced by his partner to climb on board via the bowroller (where the anchor rests). It took a bit of help from one of the men on the pontoon (who had to take the aft paws of the dog and lift them on board), but finally the dog was ready for problem number 2: how do we get that dog down that steep flight of stairs? This was solved more easily: just push him and gravity will do the rest . Anyway … he didn’t find anything and after problems 3 and 4 were solved, the dog was so happy that he just had to leave proof of his presence on the pontoon (luckily it was of the fluid kind).

After a short nap (we had been sailing through the night), we went to visit Salé (which is on the right bank of the river Bouregreg, right across Rabat) and were soon given a tour by a young local guide. It turned out to be a very interesting, but also very expensive tour: he charged us 60 EURO for it and I was so baffled by this, that I didn’t even think about refusing to pay that much . This was just one example of what seems to be a common denominator here: you are considered a money machine.

Here lies some saint that can help women become pregnant or find a husband

The 'monday' door of the great mosque of Salé (there are 7 doors that each open on a different day)

A baker at work: you bring the bread and he bakes it

An enormous graveyard: unlike dead people in Belgium, dead muslims stay in their graves and are buried alone, thus causing very crowded cemeteries

Inside the pirates' prison

The next day we visited the Medina of Rabat (in short: crowded and dirty), bought some curry for -again- an exorbitant price

Notice the expensive kerry (and other spices) salesman in the back

and went on to visit the Oudayah kasbah,

The famous Oudaya gate in the distance

where a guide was forced upon us (you have to take a guide from the kasbah!) but when asked for the price, we were told it was only 60 Dirham for the two of us. After the visit it turned out to be 60 Dirham per person (no use arguing) and when I didn’t have anything smaller than a 200 Dirham note, he refused to return the 80 Dirham and said it was a personal fee for the guide. It’s the same here as in Belgium: a minority (I wish to think it’s a minority) is ruining it for the large majority, leaving a bad aftertaste and making very bad publicity for their country.

Rabat, seen from the terrace of the Kasbah

Looking at the entrance that was so dangerous the day before

Going to look at the remnants of the pirates' defenses

So … on to what we decided to be our last destination in Morocco: Mohammedia. On our way there we got a private show, presented by 2 dolphins and taking more than an hour. It were the first dolphins we saw since Portugal.

When we arrived in Mohammedia, I contacted the ‘capitainerie’ to ask for permission to enter the harbor and proceed to the marina, but I got told that the marina was full and that we had to anchor in front of the beach. Being a very well protected anchorage (except when the swell comes from anywhere east of north), this was not really an ordeal: we had a very quiet night. The next morning I put the dinghy in the water and prepared it to go to the marina to report to the customs and the police. When it was ready, a police boat approached. They asked for our papers, but before I could get them, another boat approached telling them to go away (or something like that) and that I should call the marina because there was a berth free now and I had to go there. Half an hour later the dinghy was stowed on deck again and the anchor was raised. As soon as we were attached to the pontoon, a first official came on board to do some paperwork. He had something to do with maritime police or military. We were told to wait for the police and the customs. While we were waiting we had a chat with Wim and his wife (a Belgian couple) who are sailing to Australia over a period of 2 years. Getting fed up with waiting for the police to arrive (we had been waiting for about 2 hours already), we took our papers and went to the police bureau. A friendly man told us we had to return to the boat and wait for someone to come. He would be there in ’10 minutes from now’. About an hour later (which seems to be the equivalent of 10 Moroccan minutes) the same man showed up together with another one. They had me write down the same information I had already given to the previous officer and after a short, but apparently necessary, look at the inside of the boat they went of with our passports and ship’s papers, telling us we should come get our passports when we wanted to leave the harbor and that meanwhile we should wait for the customs officer. Another half hour later that last one finally showed up, asked us if we had anything to declare, had me sign a statement that I had no guns on board and left. After 4 hours, we were officially allowed to step ashore . First we picked up our passports, got a ‘shore permit’ which allowed us to leave the port (and more importantly: enter the port) and walked to town, where we called a ‘petit taxi’ to drive us to the supermarket (according to Xana this was ‘heaven’ ) to victualize for the coming trip to the Canary Islands (Isla Graciosa to be precise).

Today we’re going to eat in the restaurant of the yacht club, pay our berthing fee and have a look in town. It’s going to be a lazy, relaxing day (for the first time in weeks there’s a slight drizzle) so that we can start the 400+ miles to the Canary Islands well-rested.

From Cádiz to Asilah

We had downloaded the most recent grib-files (files containing information about wind direction and speed), checked the weather forecast on passagemaker.com and decided to leave the Puerto Deportivo América in Cádiz at 1830. This would give us a pleasant ride to Asilah (Morocco), some 70 nautical miles south, with wind coming from a convenient direction, varying between 5 (not enough) and 15 knots. You would expect a same day/night weather forecast to be correct … it wasn’t
During the first part of the trip, there was close to no wind at all and the little there was came straight up our nose, hence: mainsail set in the center (for stability) and motor to get closer to our target.

Sunset over a calm sea

Xana took the first watch from 2100 to midnight. At about 2200 we were approached by a vessel without any navigation lights and seconds later we were flooded with light as if we were a football field where a premier league night game was playing … the Guardia Civil was checking us out. They didn’t say anything, didn’t call on the VHF, nada. After about 15 seconds they seemed to be satisfied with what they saw, and left. At that moment I made my second catch with my fishing rod (the first one being my wind generator, but that’s already been told in a previous blog entry): I caught a Guardia Civil patrol boat . Unfortunately it got away, bending and breaking the hook and taking the bait with it.
My watch started at midnight before I had been able to catch some sleep (not being very tired yet and the continuous humming of the engine). Meanwhile our speed over ground had dropped from 5 to just above 3 knots: the current was now working against us . At 0150 I got the impression that the wind was picking up, though still coming from dead ahead, and for some reason I didn’t feel at ease. I first wanted to wait until Xana would take over (at 0300) to put a reef in the mainsail, but decided to call her at 0200 and while we were at it, decided to put in a second reef. She went back to bed and I saw the wind picking up even more, while the sea continued building. I gathered that the large waves were caused by the fact that the sea was only 20m deep and expected the sea to flatten out when we reached the 30m line, where the bottom quickly dropped to 60m and more … it was not to be. For some reason we were entitled to a bonus of 20+ knots, giving a total of 35+ knots (also known as ‘gale’). Luckily it was night and although there was a full moon, I couldn’t completely (visually) ‘appreciate’ the sea state. I did get the opportunity to appreciate it physically: first I got showered by a wave that ceased the occasion when I looked over the dodger, then I got a second shower by a wave that had figured out how to circumvent the dodger (finding it’s way inside) and finally a big one when a wave broke across the entire length of Smoke. I admit: I had mixed feelings about the situation. I was very tense, quite worried and at first also afraid. But at the same time I was sort of enjoying the way we were riding the waves because I gathered that this thing wouldn’t last very long: I hoped it was the Strait of Gibraltar working as a venturi … I turned out to be correct. Four hours later, reaching the latitude of cape Espartel, the sea calmed and the wind sort of died down. Half an hour later we had to start the engine again.
During the ‘event’ I didn’t have the heart to call Xana for her watch: she was already sick and the sight of the sea would probably not be very relaxing . None of us got any sleep before 0700, when Xana was fit enough to take the helm again and I got a well deserved hour of sleep, followed by Xana at 0830

and our first African sunrise (again over a calm sea)

While we were crossing one of the traffic separation zones, I had to call one of the ships (Katrina B) because we were on a collision course. We agreed to both alter our course to starboard, thus avoiding insurance claims . And just as we were leaving the TSZ, we (and every other ship in the Strait) received an emergency call (‘Pan Pan’) from Tarifa radio: a small ship (I suppose a fellow sailor) with 3 persons on board was in peril between Cabo Espartel and Barbate and that everybody was requested to keep a sharp lookout. Some time later the message was repeated, but now the boat was reported missing. I suppose they had had the same idea as us, with the same weather forecast and got into the same type of sea and wind . We don’t know how that story ended.

Raising the Moroccan courtesy flag

Entering in Asilah is not for the fainthearted: large waves tend to break in the entrance and you have to ‘time’ your entry so that it doesn’t coincide with such a wave. Getting out of here will probably make me loose a couple of ounces

a taste of the surf you could end up in when entering or leaving

When we were anchored, the harbor captain or customs officer and a young soldier came over to welcome us and take note of the information they needed. The officer had a look around the boat, looking here and there and asking questions. Finally he welcomed us in Morocco and said he hoped we would have a pleasant stay and if we needed anything, we could always come by his office. When we want to visit the town, we can leave our dinghy next to their boat in front of their office. No sign of several things we had read about: baksheesh, men shouldn’t wear shorts, women neither, … The officer was in shorts, didn’t ask for baksheesh (didn’t hint either) and on the shore we already saw several women with shorts or miniskirts . A very nice first experience of Morocco indeed!