For almost a week gale force winds battered the anchorage. Eileen of Avoca shifted from side to side tugging at her lines but sheltered from the open sea, the passing storms had little effect. I didn’t even have to worry about getting struck by the frequent lightning with this fine lightning rod (see photo) anchored close by.
By the 10th of November conditions had vastly improved and I made haste for Ibiza. I’m told the fishing is especially good after a storm and my haul of swordfish and tuna certainly seemed to confirm this. I was simply having a ball.
I wish the same could be said after my arrival in Ibiza. Incredibly this supposed mecca for hedonists had even less going for it in November than my quiet anchorage in Mallorca. A city consisting of vacant apartment blocks is not quite my cup of tea, so I sailed to the other side of the island to check whether “la belle vie” had moved to San Antonio.
I half expected to see tumbleweeds rolling through the deserted streets and seasonally abandoned establishments. With no incentive to linger, I set sail once more, braving an increasingly agitated sea to reach Denia and the possibility of real life on the Spanish mainland.