Decisions Decisions
We eased into the day with a nice cow’s milk coffee, which we appreciated more than ever before. We decided to head off as soon as possible after breakfast as there was a bit of swell rolling into the bay where we’d dropped anchor and those sea legs of mine were still yet to arrive.
Armed with a map, we motored along the Costa Brava, admiring all the little towns and villages along the route. Some were very populated, with rows of high rise hotels & units along the foreshore, while others were very quaint, all their cute buildings older, terracotta-roofed and white. It’s one thing to visit these places by road but to see them from the sea gives a whole new perspective. You can see a place in its entirety and get a real feel for what it’s like. We sat up on the flybridge (I’m getting good at this nautical lingo now) gazing through binoculars and munching on Mediterranean delights. Chelle is excelling herself in the culinary department, taking every opportunity to turn those fruitful Aldi shopping excursions into mouthwatering platters of olives, Spanish cheeses, jamon off the bone, local seafood…She’s the Queen of the galley and this is no weight loss health retreat I can tell you! Every hour is happy hour aboard the SS Pasha. Hope we can squeeze ourselves back into those little plane seats for our return journey.
When the boys brought the boat down from England in 2018, let’s just say there were some teething problems. One day the satellite was on the blink, then the stabilisers were playing up, then the generator ceased to cooperate, then the auto pilot packed its bags and went AWOL, and so it went on. Gradually these issues have been addressed and ironed out and Pasha is a new woman, er…boat. Captain Al is his happiest when he’s trouble-shooting but Pasha has a mind all of her own it seems. The generator has had a couple of days off and the anchor chain (all 100m of it) had to be hauled up by our boys when the automatic pulling-up-anchor thingy (*may not be its technical name) refused to work. There’s never a dull moment.
Michelle’s mantra for this trip has been, “This is an adventure, not a holiday”. This is a good one and certainly has rung true. Perhaps though, a more accurate mantra for our little posse needs to be applied: “Nothing is set in stone”. A holiday – sorry, adventure – of this nature, needs to take into account the many variables in the equation. The wind direction and speed , the swell, the weather conditions and of course, as discussed, whether or not Pasha is firing on all cylinders. For this reason, plans have to be flexible. Flexible plans are one thing, but ours are more elastic than a circus contortionist in full lycra, dangling from a bungee cord. Not even Mrs Incredible – Elastagirl herself – could keep up with our rapid-fire changes of plan. Don’t get me wrong, I’m up for the adventure and spontaneity is the spice of life (or something like that). It makes it all the more exciting. We can discuss something at length, thrash around the options, make a decision and then by the time I’ve ducked downstairs to get a hat, the plans have completely turned around.
“OK, Ross will drive the girls ashore, Al will stay on the boat.” Got it.
“OK so now, Ross and Sarah will go ashore and Al will drive them and Chelle will stay on the boat”. Got it.
“OK we’ve decided that the girls can go ashore, they can drive themselves and Ross and Al will stay on the boat”. Got it.
Veggie Tales fans may be familiar with the ‘Pirates That Don’t Do Anything’, well we are the ‘Crew That Can’t Make a Decision.
After much deliberation then, it was decided that we’d pull into the beautiful little fishing village of Sa Tuna. Our family had visited a few years ago and we had fallen in love with it. From our vantage point out at sea, it looked even cuter than we’d remembered. We found an empty mooring and Ross, Chelle and I went ashore to explore (Al drove, just so you know). Al volunteered to stay back and finish scraping the barnacles from the prop, which had really helped with the functioning of the engine.
As we sat seaside, sangria in hand, olives on toothpicks held aloft, the gentle sea breeze washing over us as the sun warmed our toes, watching salty, sea-weathered fishermen untangling their nets by their little wooden trawlers, we couldn’t believe the beauty of this place. Chelle and I swam around the corner into a little cave. The emerald green water was so clear you could see every wrinkle on your toes. This clarity caused temporary alarm when I thought I’d seen a sea snake just to our left. We clutched each other tightly in terror as we waited for it to slither. Thankfully it turns out, sticks don’t move so we were safe, crisis averted.
We meandered around the town and up a track that led us through pretty little streets with exquisite Spanish houses to die for. Bright purple bougainvillea vines, vivid blue window shutters, whitewashed walls with archways to hidden courtyards, wavy terracotta rooflines…it was amazing! The views from the top back down to the beach were nothing short of breathtaking and we could see Pasha bobbing below us on the emerald sea. This was definitely a day to remember.
Al’s hard work was rewarded with his own sangria and look around Sa Tuna. Rossco struck up a conversation with a couple of local blokes with their own boat. They had impeccable English so it was nice to get some tips for where we should go next. They recommended L’Escala, about 2 hours away, and instructed us to go and see Gerard at a certain restaurant and tell him Marc had sent us. This town was famous for their anchovies they informed us, and even if they were usually something you requested to be left off your pizza, these would be worth a try. They had a marina where we could refuel too. So, we untied and ventured, I was going to say “along”, but Ross informs me we were actually heading “north” towards our destination. Along the way we passed the Illes Medes Islands; absolutely stunning rock formations that just poked up out of the water. We had read that there were amazing underwater caves here. As we sailed past, we noticed there were moorings all along the side of the islands. Should we stop? Would we spend the night here? Al was just a tad excited by the prospect of an underwater cave to explore. But what about L’Escala? What about Gerard and the anchovies? Decisions, decisions.
No, with Michelle at the helm, it was decided we’d push on. Hang on though, look at that incredible village up ahead. It’s L’Estartit. Should we stop there? Would we stay at L’Etartit instead? But wait, if we stop there will we ever make it to France? Conditions were perfect. Calm seas, virtually no wind. What if we pulled an all-nighter? We could be in France by mid-morning and have croissants for breakfast. This idea gathered momentum. Ross, Al and Chelle could do 3 hour stints at the wheel, manning the controls and scanning the horizon for hazards. I know what you’re thinking. Why isn’t Sarah down for any shifts? After a very serious safety briefing from the Captain, with talk of man overboard buttons, self-inflating life rafts, the letting off of flares, possible contact with refugees, cargo ship encounters and hazards in general, I got a bit freaked out and crushed by the weight of having the responsibility of my precious crew mates’ fate, resting in my very incapable hands. At one stage, when I was seeking instructions on how to let off a flare, Al said, “don’t worry too much Sarah. We’ll all be here to help”. Michelle helpfully piped in, “well, not if we’re all dead.” It was decided, after much deliberation, that I would be the support person, chatting to the shift workers throughout the night, on-call should they need a runner. We were all given jobs if an emergency should arise. I had to get water bottles and flares, Ross was on life rafts, Chelle was to grab the Epirb and our Captain would coordinate our evacuation. Michelle set out strict instructions for going outside. From now on, with this overnight plan, we were to inform at least one crew member if we were going outside. Within minutes, our resident rule breaker, none other than Captain Al, had wandered out to the front deck without informing a single soul. Michelle, used to his rebellious antics, rolled her eyes and turned to me saying, “You know what he’ll say? That we can still see land, that it was still daylight and that our overnighter hadn’t yet started”.
Al came in and, upon being chastised for his flagrant flouting of her newly established rules, quoted word for word what she’d said he would say!
We had a group prayer time and it was decided. Lock it in Eddie.
So it was, with thoughts of underwater caves and anchovies far behind us…WE WERE GOING TO FRANCE! (Personally, I think it was the allure of the croissants for breakfast that got us over the line).
