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Back to the Boat, September 14, 2011
After a whirlwind 6 weeks back in USA (Stoughton) which included our Annual Summer Party on the lake, and also included one 5-day excursion for myself and my sister-in-law Maggie to St. Martin, we are returned to Valencia and the boat. I found the boat filthy and in need of total hose down and cleaning. The carpenters did a splendid job on our v-berth sail storage and our man “Pat” from California finally got our compressor to work on the refrigerator, but due to his travel times had to leave some extra parts laying around for us to decide if they were important or not. After our 2 days in the marina, putting everything back in order and re-sorting our available storage space, we think we are ready to push on.
Valencia, August 2nd-Sept 14th
Citywide commemorative sewer caps for The America's Cup
Molly flew home on Wed, but not before we all went to the rated (#) number one restaurant for Paella in Valencia (La Rena Restaurant).
Our daily afternoon "beat the heat" location. Iced mugs with each fill!
The Valencia Old Market was outstanding and pictures don't do justice.
The cured ham was outstanding and hard to resist buying an entire leg for the boat to nibble on!
Fred, Paula, Ken and I had several more days before we had to close up the boat and were able to enjoy the pool at the marina as much as possible to escape the heat. I truly enjoyed laundry for the first time this summer because of the marina’s facilities. I took the days to wash all the bedding and most of our clothes that were subject to the bucket laundry I did on the dock. The boat unfortunately many days look like a drying rack for our laundry, but it is all done and I am very happy about that!
We have gone back to USA for 6 weeks and in the meantime will have some small projects done on the boat.
On our way to Valencia, a quick stop for snorkling.
Our plan today was to leave around 3PM and motor to Calad’ Hort, anchor and do some
swimming. We found a very nice quiet
spot and with Fred and Molly snorkeling,
we relaxed on the boat before some dinner and shoving off for our last
overnight to Valencia.
Fred spotting for good anchorage spot
Now, time for a swim!
Molly's in!
Pulled anchor around 7:30 and started our
shifts.
shifts.
Spain-Ibiza, July 31, 2011
Sunday, we left for Ibiza, the party island of Spain. It was a 10 hour trip so we tried to leave
around 8:30. light winds again which required us to motor with the jib most of
the way. Ibiza
proved to be so expensive we were happy we were only there for one night. Our slip was 150 Euro’s for one night! Ken and Molly wanted to check out the famous
nightclubs and disco’s that are always connected to Ibiza’s
reputation. Paula made Steak Fajita’s
for dinner and after a short nap, Ken and Molly departed for the disco at
12AM. Going any earlier, the disco would
be empty or not opened yet. Things don’t
really get going until 2 or 3AM! Too
late for me for sure!!! I think they did
get back to the boat around 3:30 in a daze of the huge crowds and beautiful
people at the disco!
Monday, August 1st, Ken and I did a bit of a tour of Ibiza’s old city and walked to the top of their
citadel. We sure get our walking
exercise up and down steep grades on this trip!
Monday, August 1st, Ken and I did a bit of a tour of Ibiza’s old city and walked to the top of their
citadel. We sure get our walking
exercise up and down steep grades on this trip!
Our boat in the Ibiza Harbor. Most expensive slip we have ever paid for!
View from the Citadel
Spain-Palma Mallorica, July 29-30, 2011
Thursday was a day sailing 11-15 kt winds and we averaged
boat speed 6-7 kts. Listening to George
Winston we had the pleasure of several dolphin sightings and one sea
turtle. We are heading to Palma
Mallorica to meet up with our lovely French friends, Guy and Renee. They have their boat Cashu and it’s crew there to participate in the
Copa del Rey Regatta. (we did this one last year).
boat speed 6-7 kts. Listening to George
Winston we had the pleasure of several dolphin sightings and one sea
turtle. We are heading to Palma
Mallorica to meet up with our lovely French friends, Guy and Renee. They have their boat Cashu and it’s crew there to participate in the
Copa del Rey Regatta. (we did this one last year).
Guy, Kristine, Ken, Renee, Molly, Paula and Fred
Taking the blender "on the road"
Arriving Friday in Palma,
we found a perfect berth in one of the Quay side marinas just a short walk to
the Yacht Club that host the regatta. We
met up with Guy and Renee and 2 of their crew on Friday and made plans to bring
our blender, fruit and ice to their boat later Saturday. They would provide the RUM! With their 12 crew members and the 5 of us,
we celebrated on Cashou in the Grateful Red, gas powered blender style!
Kristine, Renee, Paula and Molly
Molly's Camel Story!
We had finished all the chores that needed to get done in
the port of Tabarka - including a nice long hot shower, laundry shopping, and
getting, (yet another) bag of ice from the local fishery.
It was now mid-afternoon, and we were leaving first thing the next morning. We didn't
have enough time that afternoon to head off into the Tunisian countryside to visit some ancient ruins, but there was enough time (there's always enough time) to ride some camels.
The 2007 Lonely Planet guidebook said that we could catch a taxi to the Golf Resort Hotel, and the camel rides were supposed to be right next to the entrance. You should know in Tunisia that most folks speak Arabic and some French. Sometimes a little English. We told the
taxi driver (in our horrible French) that we wanted to go to the Golf Resort Hotel. And we were off. Ten minutes later, we pulled into the driveway of the now defunct Golf Resort Hotel. No camels anywhere.
We tried to tell him that we wanted to ride camels - but the only word I could remember was horse. Didn't know "ride" or "camel." Hey, French was back in high school! So we
pantomimed riding, and told him horses with (pantomimed) humps - and he says
"Chamaeux! " Of course - camels!
Off we went again, and three minutes later we were happily tipping the driver too much as he dropped us off at the entrance to the Camel Stables. The stable manager promptly informed us that he was fully booked, - there was not enough time for us to have the two hour tour - and
we should come back tomorrow. We explained (in horrrible French) that we were
leaving on a boat the next day, yada yada yada...
Just then, three camels came sauntering in - camels saunter, don't you know - carrying a family.
They dismounted, and the father overheard heard our conversation. He jumped right in. He explained our situation in fluent Arabic, and bullied the owner into offering us a twenty minute ride. Great!
We'll take it!
We climbed onto our beasts (no small feat - these animals are tall) and off we went on our little camel train. A guide led Fred's camel, I was in the middle, and Paula was on the caboose. We sat on comfortable poof-poofs, that created a seat behind the camels' humps. This meant your legs had to straddle the hump in front of you. The motion was not unlike the motion of the boat on small swells, and quite rythymic in a way. I made friends with Paula's camel, as his head was right next to my thigh. He had a muzzle on (probably not a bad idea, considering what I know of
the camels reputation for spitting and biting) but his head was soft and fuzzy,
and the perfect height for petting with my hand. Off we went onto to the paved road that ran along the tourist hotels. These tourist hotels were like the ones you might see in Florida - beautifully landscaped, overlooking the sandy stretch of beach - lovely really. But apparently the "forest ride" that our guidebook promised was a bit outdated, and now our beasts of burden carried us past the housing development in progress. Young Tunisians flew past us in clusters on
their rented ATVs, kicking up dust and fumes. We laughed at the irony of it all - we were longing for a cultural experience, and they were too. We laughed an awful lot during our ride. The sight of Fred's butt swaying ahead of me, and Paula taking pictures behind me, the unexpected scenery - it was all hysterical when you are bobbing along on a Chamaeux.
Our twenty minute ride stretched to about 40 minutes (camels saunter, you know) and we were all starting to think - OK that's enough. The thighs have had enough. We returned to the stables, slid (a long way) down to the ground, and happily paid the manager. A true adventure.
The walk back to town was quite an adventure too, but of a different sort. We had somewhat lost track of how far away we were from the Grateful Red, and thought it would be nice to stretch our legs. We were in the Tourist Zone, so feeling somewhat safe, we decided to walk back to
the harbor. The hotels were beautiful, as was the stretch of beachfront beyond
them. The waves were rolling in on the shore, and the sun was starting to set. What struck us was how disconnected everything seemed. There were piles of garbage in some of the public areas, and some of the modern amenities (like the dive center) were recently closed and barren. It was
like there was a time when this place was hopeful and popular, but now it was stuggling to survive. I don't know whether it was the Revolution that changed things, or what. But there was a strange sense that it was a recent change. We passed two teenagers waiting for a taxi, and they told us how happy they were to see us - they miss the tourists... This was not the first time Tunisians had said to us that they were glad that tourists were back to visiting.
We finally (4 or 5 miles later!) made it back to our section of Tabarka, starving for some dinner. Street food it was, and we stopped at a sandwich stand we had spied that morning. They made homemade Schwarma flatbread. The lovely young girl cooked our bread on a skillet -
then the stand operator filled it with (just about) everything you could imagine. Some unnamed Meat that rotated on a rotisserie behind him, vegetables, olives, Harissa hot sauce, mayo, french fries (yes, IN the sandwich) cheese, hard boiled egg... Then they wrapped the bread around
it, and wrapped it in paper. A bottle of water from a neighboring shop, and for
$1.50 each we were in hog (maybe it was hog, maybe it was chamaeux) heaven.
Dinner was capped off by a trip to the waterfront crepe maker. He was Algerian (the flag flew over the stand) and quite the flirt. We looked at the three choices on the menu, and asked for a
chocolate almond crepe. No chocolate almond. Chocolate caramel? No. Chocolate? OK. He made quite a production over cooking the crepe, and a line of customers grew behind us as we waited.
It seemed Americans were good for business everywhere we stopped - the same thing had happened at the sandwich stand. It was totally worth the wait - a hot chewy crepe, dripping with chocolate...a complete mess, but worth having to redo laundry for.
So our Tabarkan adventure came to a close; sore thighs, sore feet, full bellies and full hearts.
The End.
have enough time that afternoon to head off into the Tunisian countryside to visit some ancient ruins, but there was enough time (there's always enough time) to ride some camels.
The 2007 Lonely Planet guidebook said that we could catch a taxi to the Golf Resort Hotel, and the camel rides were supposed to be right next to the entrance. You should know in Tunisia that most folks speak Arabic and some French. Sometimes a little English. We told the
taxi driver (in our horrible French) that we wanted to go to the Golf Resort Hotel. And we were off. Ten minutes later, we pulled into the driveway of the now defunct Golf Resort Hotel. No camels anywhere.
We tried to tell him that we wanted to ride camels - but the only word I could remember was horse. Didn't know "ride" or "camel." Hey, French was back in high school! So we
pantomimed riding, and told him horses with (pantomimed) humps - and he says
"Chamaeux! " Of course - camels!
Off we went again, and three minutes later we were happily tipping the driver too much as he dropped us off at the entrance to the Camel Stables. The stable manager promptly informed us that he was fully booked, - there was not enough time for us to have the two hour tour - and
we should come back tomorrow. We explained (in horrrible French) that we were
leaving on a boat the next day, yada yada yada...
Just then, three camels came sauntering in - camels saunter, don't you know - carrying a family.
They dismounted, and the father overheard heard our conversation. He jumped right in. He explained our situation in fluent Arabic, and bullied the owner into offering us a twenty minute ride. Great!
We'll take it!
We climbed onto our beasts (no small feat - these animals are tall) and off we went on our little camel train. A guide led Fred's camel, I was in the middle, and Paula was on the caboose. We sat on comfortable poof-poofs, that created a seat behind the camels' humps. This meant your legs had to straddle the hump in front of you. The motion was not unlike the motion of the boat on small swells, and quite rythymic in a way. I made friends with Paula's camel, as his head was right next to my thigh. He had a muzzle on (probably not a bad idea, considering what I know of
the camels reputation for spitting and biting) but his head was soft and fuzzy,
and the perfect height for petting with my hand. Off we went onto to the paved road that ran along the tourist hotels. These tourist hotels were like the ones you might see in Florida - beautifully landscaped, overlooking the sandy stretch of beach - lovely really. But apparently the "forest ride" that our guidebook promised was a bit outdated, and now our beasts of burden carried us past the housing development in progress. Young Tunisians flew past us in clusters on
their rented ATVs, kicking up dust and fumes. We laughed at the irony of it all - we were longing for a cultural experience, and they were too. We laughed an awful lot during our ride. The sight of Fred's butt swaying ahead of me, and Paula taking pictures behind me, the unexpected scenery - it was all hysterical when you are bobbing along on a Chamaeux.
Our twenty minute ride stretched to about 40 minutes (camels saunter, you know) and we were all starting to think - OK that's enough. The thighs have had enough. We returned to the stables, slid (a long way) down to the ground, and happily paid the manager. A true adventure.
The walk back to town was quite an adventure too, but of a different sort. We had somewhat lost track of how far away we were from the Grateful Red, and thought it would be nice to stretch our legs. We were in the Tourist Zone, so feeling somewhat safe, we decided to walk back to
the harbor. The hotels were beautiful, as was the stretch of beachfront beyond
them. The waves were rolling in on the shore, and the sun was starting to set. What struck us was how disconnected everything seemed. There were piles of garbage in some of the public areas, and some of the modern amenities (like the dive center) were recently closed and barren. It was
like there was a time when this place was hopeful and popular, but now it was stuggling to survive. I don't know whether it was the Revolution that changed things, or what. But there was a strange sense that it was a recent change. We passed two teenagers waiting for a taxi, and they told us how happy they were to see us - they miss the tourists... This was not the first time Tunisians had said to us that they were glad that tourists were back to visiting.
We finally (4 or 5 miles later!) made it back to our section of Tabarka, starving for some dinner. Street food it was, and we stopped at a sandwich stand we had spied that morning. They made homemade Schwarma flatbread. The lovely young girl cooked our bread on a skillet -
then the stand operator filled it with (just about) everything you could imagine. Some unnamed Meat that rotated on a rotisserie behind him, vegetables, olives, Harissa hot sauce, mayo, french fries (yes, IN the sandwich) cheese, hard boiled egg... Then they wrapped the bread around
it, and wrapped it in paper. A bottle of water from a neighboring shop, and for
$1.50 each we were in hog (maybe it was hog, maybe it was chamaeux) heaven.
Dinner was capped off by a trip to the waterfront crepe maker. He was Algerian (the flag flew over the stand) and quite the flirt. We looked at the three choices on the menu, and asked for a
chocolate almond crepe. No chocolate almond. Chocolate caramel? No. Chocolate? OK. He made quite a production over cooking the crepe, and a line of customers grew behind us as we waited.
It seemed Americans were good for business everywhere we stopped - the same thing had happened at the sandwich stand. It was totally worth the wait - a hot chewy crepe, dripping with chocolate...a complete mess, but worth having to redo laundry for.
So our Tabarkan adventure came to a close; sore thighs, sore feet, full bellies and full hearts.
The End.
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