Finally, a taste of the cruising we'd dreamt of; three, sun baked weeks cruising three beautiful islands.

With well over two thousand miles under our keel we finally tasted the Mediterranean we'd dreamt of; this is where our reward seemed to truly begin. After weeks of unsettled, temperamental weather and tiresome passage making we finally felt as though we'd 'arrived' and gladly put up our feet for a while. We soaked up three glorious, stress free weeks on the Balearic Islands of Ibiza, Mallorca and Menorca, one week on each, lapping up the typical 'charter holiday' lifestyle. Arriving on the islands 8th July, much later in the season than anticipated, our issues (according to hearsay) were going to be over-crowded anchorages and unaffordable marinas. We managed to survive both quite easily, and having never previously visited any of the islands we were pleasantly surprised. Taking a northern route over Ibiza, the pulsing "dusk-'til-dawn" island of nightlife, we discovered deserted, picturesque anchorages that you'd no longer expect to find. It was very easy to whittle away four peaceful days in the very beautiful Cala Blanco, relaxing, swimming, catching up and spending quality time with Jack and Patricia. During our stay we met and enjoyed time spent with John, another American sailor, single-handing 'Sarah' ('Whoosh's' sister-ship) and also snatched a brief final rendezvous with John and Carol of 'Genesis' before they pressed on swiftly east towards Greece.

Leaving Cala Blanco and after sailing leisurely out to sea and tacking back to shore, we came to Portinaitx, a family holiday resort with the anchorage surrounded by three small beaches. The atmosphere here was a pleasant contrast after the seclusion of Cala Blanco. There was lots going on, we enjoyed people watching, a meal ashore and live flamenco music and dancers on the beach, while holiday-makers in pedalos seemed to enjoy cruising around the anchorage for a closer look at the likes of us.

Mallorca

Heading offshore once again, after a nine-hour traffic busy passage, we made our landfall at Port d'Andratx on the western tip of Mallorca, the largest island of the Balearic archipelago. As is typical here, the charming little town of Andraitx lies in a valley some 5km inland, where in ancient times the settlements were safer and better able to defend themselves from pirate attacks. Port d'Andraitx, now a swanky little resort, was a tiny fishing village as recent as the 1960s. Today, its sheltered bay offers protection for yachts as well as the fishing fleet, in two marinas and a large anchorage. The steep wooded slopes surrounding the anchorage are littered with ochre-coloured dwellings that blend so beautifully with the limestone of the island that they are barely visible when approaching from sea.

At sunset on the 16th July, we witnessed a procession of around one hundred decorated yachts and fishing vessels, travel out to sea and back partaking in the rituals and celebrations of the Dia de Virgen de Carmen, The feast of the patron saint of sailors and fishermen. We spent three days in the vast anchorage, making the most of the town's great supermarket, Angie got a haircut and we again caught up with some fellow cruisers, meeting some new ones too, before moving on to Port de Soller.

Similar to Port d'Andraitx, Port de Soller has a decent sized anchorage surrounded by magnificent mountains. A vintage tram can be caught on the promenade to the town of Soller, again nestled in a valley 5km inland. From here it is possible to take a vintage electric train ride through the peaks and valleys of the Serra de Tramuntana to the capital city of Palma. We had hoped to visit Palma and telephoned several marinas from Ibiza for berthing quotations, asking for two nights to enable us to see more than just the marina; but the high season fees were extortionate and no one could offer us a berth for more than one night. The train ride from Soller was an exciting alternative but we didn't feel comfortable leaving Hitrapia in the crowded anchorage. We later learned of the 'Mole de Transit', in both Port d'Andratx and Port de Soller, offering a few berths for visiting yachts. If you can acquire one, you're allowed to stay up to 3 nights for around €10 a night. We hope to have another opportunity to visit Palma on our passage back out of the Mediterranean!

From Soller we sailed the remainder of the north-west coast, rounding Cap de Formentor to Port de Pollenca, again the resort town of Pollenca 6km inland. A mostly calm, exquisitely picturesque passage, until getting tossed around in severe over-falls at the cape followed by a fresh F5 funnelling into the bay. But our passage was completed on a happy note when the harbour master directed us to a well protected, newly laid, free mooring field. On completing our paperwork we learned that the bouys had been laid for environmental reasons, to protect a particular type of seagrass - 'Posidonia Oceanica' - which is very important to the environment and is being destroyed by anchoring yachts. It was very encouraging to later find more similar mooring fields, designed to protect the seagrass meadows, in Menorca and Sardinia.

Mallorca's landscape is very diverse and before our visit we would never have guessed that much of the island is virtually untouched by tourism. The north-west coast is dominated by the high peaks of the Serra de Tramuntana and although the island has some interesting historic sights, we found this rugged coastline the most impressive, both breathtakingly beautiful and sinister.

Menorca

Wayne's birthday was swiftly approaching and he thought he'd like to spend it in Menorca's capital, Mao, often referred to by its other name - Mahon. The crossing was an uneventful motor-sail with very light north westerlies until we closed in on the south of the island. Apart from Mahon, thought by Nelson to be the most protected natural harbour in the Mediterranean, Menorca has few other protected bays, especially in the south where the landscape is smooth, flat and little indented, but with light north westerlies, Cala de Son Saura was an option in settled conditions. As we approached the Cala, we began to make out a number of masts protruding above the height of the land but it wasn't until the anchorage opened up to us that we saw the mass of sticks, like a giant tray of cocktail party nibbles. We were struggling with the decision whether to take a closer look for a spot in the crowded anchorage when a shift in the wind made our minds up for us. With little warning, the wind increased to over twenty knots and swung round to the south, now blowing directly into our port of refuge. We had intentionally set out from Mallorca at dawn to give us as many hours of daylight as possible to reach our destination; it was now mid afternoon, we swung Hitrapia's nose back out to sea in the hope to make Mahon by nightfall. Our southerly F5 was sadly short lived and soon the winds were light again but from the east! Are you getting a picture of the changeable weather conditions in the Mediterranean yet? Completing the rest of the journey under engine, we made safe passage around the very beautiful south east corner of the island, through its Bahamas like, shallow turquoise waters and safely into the huge harbour of Mahon.

It was difficult to observe the true beauty of the entrance and historic fortifications as it was dusk; although not hampered by the diminishing daylight but because we found ourselves amidst a stampede of motor boats of all shapes and sizes, returning to port at terrific speeds. It took all we could muster just to stay secure in the cockpit as the wash from overtaking vessels rocked us violently from side to side. Studying our pilot we learned that the harbour had just one anchorage near its mouth but some two miles from the city centre. Apart from the anchorage, other berthing options included numerous mooring buoys in the many small cala's, two large floating pontoons in the centre of the harbour nearest the city centre and a marina at the far end. After spending some time searching for a vacant mooring buoy to no avail we began to lose the last of the light.

As avid followers of the television programme Distant Shores, we had seen footage of the floating pontoon 'Isla Clementina' when long-term Canadian cruisers Paul and Sheryl Shard visited and wintered here. Ever since, it had been a dream of ours to one day bring Hitrapia here. Left with the choice of motoring over two miles back to the anchorage or taking a berth on Isla Clementina the decision was quick; we decided to accept the fact that it might cost a few euros and just enjoy it. After all, we had moored at no cost for the last sixteen nights and tomorrow was Wayne's birthday! We spent 3 nights, 2 full days (the downside to arriving at night) on Isla Clementina, it is a beautiful spot in the harbour and the most convenient for the city. On the downside it did cost us almost €44 per night, the highest mooring fee we've ever paid. It was a wonderful place to wake up and spend a birthday; we enjoyed meandering through the narrow old streets of the city, even though they were disappointingly touristy, and splashed out on a meal ashore. We also made good use of the facilities on Isla Clementina by hooking up to the shore power and going crazy with fresh water; we of course filled our tanks, did laundry and Hitrapia got a well deserved fresh water hose down.

The attempted suicide of our tender...

It was difficult to leave this floating little island but we knew we couldn't sustain the mooring fees and the place was getting busier by the day - it was time to move on. Setting off back down the channel after refuelling, our plan was to spend a night in the anchorage before sailing further north but we noticed the fresh south easterly wind, so decided to make good use of it. Once out of the channel and at sea the wind died initially but not for long, gradually building again we soon had twenty-five knots behind us and were enjoying an exhilarating sail when suddenly we heard a tremendous BANG! Frantically looking around us, checking and de-powering the rig, we stood anxiously waiting for something to give us a sign as to what had made such a noise, we saw nothing out of place until Angie noticed the dinghy was about four feet under the water! It took a few moments to compute, but it became more apparent as the dinghy slowly re-approached the surface facing the wrong way. We usually deflate our dinghy and stow it on deck when passage making, but as we'd only originally set off to move a few miles down the channel to the anchorage, we were towing it. The towing bridal of strong two-inch webbing was attached at nine points from the transom to the bow; seven of the attachments had given way, stainless steel rings completely torn from their rubber housings, leaving the bridal attached in only two places, the ones bolted through the wooden transom. We sure learned some lessons that day, it was quite a task just to empty the dinghy in twenty-five knots of wind and a sea to match, let alone get it on-board, deflate it and stow it! Surprisingly we were able to laugh about it later when we'd recovered from the adrenalin rush and tended to our bruises. The dinghy survived the day too and is still with us today, although deeply scarred.

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