New crew

Made some new friends on a maxi yacht (82 ft) that was in for repairs in the small marina in Calpe.  It is a gorgeous new yacht on an old design, a 1 of.  We had a great spontaneous Christmas eve dinner, this was more like the company I had in mind.  There were 4 guys delivering this yacht to Martinique, but they hit a log & had to repair the prop, a 20,000 euro repair!  Seems they are volunteer for the crossing doing it for the all expenses paid vacation.  Two younger guys & an accomplished sculptor (the mechanical engineer on board) & an older French sailor who is a pillar of sailing history.  Serge was more excited than a dog with 2 dicks.  Needless to say we went into the night.  They also have a paid captain & his mate but they weren't there.  They came aboard for dinner on our last night & the sculptor had a clash with the skipper so he was jumping ship, did we need crew?  Wow.  Sure, so he is with us now, & depending on how this drama plays out, perhaps all the way to the Caribbean.  Be sure to check his website out, www.hameury.com it's well worth it, & some of the stories that go with the sculptures are really good too!  He also compiled the physics curriculum for Algerian high schools & made a solar oven for Nigeria.

My friend who's been following me for awhile now.

Calpe rock on arrival

My new job?

Me & 4 guys

The mahogany companionway

We climbed the 1000 ft. rock beside the marina on Christmas day, it was great.   Here are some pics

View from the top w/Italian climber in foreground

Calpe from the top

The rock from Calpe (Ifach)

Tunnel through the mountain

The mega yacht

Uninvited guests!

 STEP AWAY from the edge!

 First Mate!

 Islote Vedra off Ibiza

 Can you find the light beacon and stairs?

 We let this one go first and the far one too

As our anchorage is too exposed we seek out the nearest marina, on the island of Formentera an hour away.  It's dark when we arrive, and shallow, less than 4 meters, so the depth alarm goes off of course.  When we spot a suitable berth the depth goes to 2.7 meters, we need 2.3.  Luckily it doesn't get any shallower.  After securing the lines we look for the electrical outlet which is again too big for our plug, so Serge goes in search of the marina personnel but finds the office closed.  An hour and a half early, according to the hours posted.  Opens tomorrow at 9.  OK, so we go exploring the little town.  Serge complains about how tired he is all the time, I reply, "It's the stress of retirement dear, it's probably going to kill you.  "Most everything is closed except the big ferry terminal, and a grow shop.  Seriously.  There is a young couple inside with a little kid running around.  How cute, a little family marijuana growing business.

The local hotel has wifi, sort of, sometimes.  You have to wait for it and catch it.  So we wait  quietly, stalking the elusive Spanish wifi.  No luck.  We call it a night and figure we'll go to the little anchorage tomorrow morning, before 9, conveniently before the office opens.   We slip out at 8 am the next day, we're getting pretty good at giving the marinas the slip, pun intended.
The water at the anchorage is very clear, but I keep seeing white things everywhere and wonder what they are.  Turns out to be garbage, mostly fast food containers, cans, etc.  Our first mosquito flies into the boat, it's a big bomber.  The little lake is fetid and smelly, brownish with tannins, no way I'm gonna rub that clay all over me.  Serge is relieved.  We relax on the beach for the afternoon, I don't know if it's a nude beach, but it is now.  Ahhh, this is what cruising is supposed to be about.
After dinner we were lamenting our solitude and wishing for company when I see a bright flash of light through the porthole over Serge's shoulder.  In another adrenaline rush we clamber topside to vaguely make out the silhouette of a big black GUN BOAT with a flashing blue light on top and a searchlight trained on us!  I smile weakly and wave.  The power of their engines and the sound of the water they displace is threatening, to say the least.  They come to our starboard side, then back up and go to port, then back up again to starboard, and back to port.  We're galloping from side to side trying to figure out what they want us to do.  Serge turns all the lights on, he tells me to go get the ship's flag.  OK, done.  Turn on the radio and give him the hand held VHF.  Roger that.  My heart is pounding in my ears when we notice they're putting bumpers out.  THEY ARE GOING TO BOARD US!  OMG!! OUR CRIMINAL PAST HAS CAUGHT UP WITH US!  They are not very forthcoming with their intentions and only talk to us when they are about 2 meters away and it's obvious they are coming aboard.  No permission asked.  They did say it was just a routine inspection, but that hardly soothes me.  I'm thinking, "Are all our papers in order?  Did we really check in to the EU from Croatia properly?"  I know we were just wishing for company but this is not what I had in mind.  Two guys in black from head to toe wearing helmets, billy clubs, jack boots, the works.  They were from customs and were totally stealth, no nav lights, no radio contact, nada.  They were joking a bit with Serge but I was so nervous I started doing the dishes.  I spied the stolen salt right in front of them on the table.  Would it be too obvious to grab it and put it under my shirt? I asked if I could take pictures and they said no, so I nonchalantly went over and picked up the iPad and thought I was snapping some pics of their backs but in my nervousness was pressing the wrong button.  Crap.  They gave us a copy of the form they were filling out and said if we ran into customs again we could show that.  Great, a get out of jail free card, we may need it. Did not get much sleep after that one, but left the next morning anyway for the coast of Spain.....

Our best sunset yet

Pictures around Ibiza

Cwazy wakeboarders

At anchor at sunset

Serge managed to squeeze into this berth, never touching

Note dregs of party off the cliff

Medieval drawbridge entrance to Dalt Vila

Ibiza in a nutshell

Pruned trees around Ibiza marina

Our first choice for an overnight anchorage was the Playa Salinas, as I had read about the famous Ibiza salt & I wanted some because I thought it would make some nice gifts.  We eshew mounting the dinghy engine & paddle ashore, I'm trying to ease the strain on "the hand".  There is a salt factory running it's conveyer belt & I envisage a factory outlet store to get my salt!  HA!  No such thing.  Only an unused roadway with a fence & a no trespassing sign hanging by one nail.  They don't seem to be very concerned about it.  So we trudge up the road towards the factory & see a couple of trucks full of salt driving by.  There is another, more imposing fence & warning, so we stop there & Serge climbs up a short wall to look over the barb wire.   He sees a vast mountain of salt, & says, "here, catch this with both hands."  I see his fist full of salt come gingerly back through the barb wire & offer up my palms together.  Hmm.  This may not make such good gifts after all.  I was thinking more fancy bottles with ribbons & corks.  He climbs down & we both stare at the beautiful crystalline white stuff.  Maybe not such a good idea on the boat & how are we going to get it back anyway?  Serge makes a pouch in his sweater & says, "put it here".   What that man won't do for me.  As we're walking back I imagine the headlines, "MAN ARRESTED FOR TRESPASSING & STEALING, SAYS WIFE MADE HIM DO IT"  When we get back to the dinghy, we realize we need a new salt cellar so we debate the merits of my various coat pockets vs. Serge's hat & decide on the hood of my jacket.  Anyone who has heard us debate knows how that goes.  And anyone who has ever rowed a dinghy through the surf knows what happens next.  I push off in my bare feet holding my shoes while Serge tries to row.  Only the wave recedes & we're grounded.  I push harder into the next wave & we're off, albeit, I'm a little wet.  That's nothing compared to what was coming.  I climb into the front of the dinghy & the next wave carries me up & splashes into the boat a little but the next 3 waves were real rollers & my weight in front drives the bow right into them.  By now I'm squealing & convulsing with laughter while buckets of sea water have soaked my back & are sloshing around in the dinghy.  I scream again & urge Serge to "ROW, ROW"  He's cursing & doing his "grumpy just for fun" thing.  (I should mention at this point that I am weaning him off coffee & he has a headache 24/7)  I am useless as I am still laughing at what a couple of idiots we are.  At least the handful of salt survived, you don't need to know what Serge thinks it's worth.  Tomorrow we go to a little lake to get clay! Yay!

Some arty Palma cathedral pics for Christmas!

Voila!  The video.  Note certain Cynthia special sound effects & remember, if yer not burpin', yer barfin'

Where's the party?

Like most of the Med, Ibiza is a ghost town in winter. We took the bus into the town of Evissa and the old fort of dalt Vila a unesco heritage site. I was not charmed. Ibiza is billed as a hedonistic party town for the last forty years and seems to have more than it's share of leftover party goers. Some of which have probably been there for forty years. It has it's own DJ celebrity who is now a music producer and expert marketer, with a shop called "F*** me, I'm famous!" that about sums it up. When we got back from the restaurant with Internet, the gate was closed and we were locked out, it said to call this number for entry, but we didn't have a phone. There was nothing for it but to jump the fence, Serge goes first and no sooner am I straddling the eight foot fence when I hear the guard ask us what we were doing. I start laughing, and soon he is too. Good thing there was no dog! Serge decides he needs an X-ray at 3 pm the next day so we make a stop at the hospital in the smaller town we're in to discover they have no machine, check at the private clinic. On our way we stop at a health food store where they tell us there is no X-ray machine in this town. I ask him, "Do you really want to take their word for it?" and when we see a sign for an osteopath I go in and he tells us, yes, just around the corner at the clinic. When we walk in we seem to have disturbed the doctor, Serge thinks he may have been drinking, His red rimmed eyes suggest to me he may have been sleeping one off. He palates the hand, he too thinks it broken, we need an X-ray, (for this I need a doctor?) the X-ray shows a fracture, the doctor says,"like when you punch something.". Wow, he's psychic too. We talk about the options, rule out surgery which would hardly make any difference anyway, and he suggests immobilization, a cast would be ideal. But Serge needs his mobility, so brightening like he just thought of it, he shows us what he can do for it. He cuts two little pieces of tape, and tapes the baby and ring finger together (for this we need a doctor?). I wonder how much this treatment is going to cost us. 120 euros, including the X-ray it turns out. I guess as far as tuition for anger management goes, it's a bargain. As we leave the office another patient is sitting in the waiting room with his shoe off. His baby toe is taped to the next one. This guy gets a lot of mileage out of his tape. Maybe that's how he treats everyone, no matter what the problem is. Trouble with your shoulder? Here, let me tape your arm to your body. Tummy ache? Let me tape your lips together. Trouble seeing? Let me tape your eyelids to your ears. Anyway,all of this to confirm what Serge already knew, his finger was broken, and now there is nothing to do about it but let it heal.

Anchors away!

You can ask Terry, I've been hankering to anchor for some weeks now, and I've finally convinced Serge this is the night All goes well, and Serge even sets his fancy Isailor anchor alarm. These gizmos are only as good as the geezer workin 'em, and for some reason he sets it at 38 meters after paying out 45 meters of chain. So in the early part of the night the alarm goes off. "did you hear that? What was it?" He's snoring so first I have to wake him up. Up on deck he declares our relationship with the shore and the few other boats hasn't changed, but the wind has pushed us around 180 degrees. Ok fine, I declare our relationship may turn around 180 degrees if I don't get some sleep. What good is this stupid alarm anyways. Just after falling asleep again, the alarm goes off. This time Serge announces that yes, indeed, we are dragging our anchor. I envisage the claw dragging slowly through the sand. Ok, what now? Reset the anchor? Find a marina? After messing with the iPad he discovers his mistake. Once you've lost faith in your anchor holding, it's VERY DIFFICULT to get it back and fall asleep. But eventually we do, for a few hours anyways. We got up at 6 am, the sun doesn't until after 8. We're on our way at7:20 an hour before sunrise. It starts out pretty calm, but gets pretty rolly and windy pretty soon. 2 meter waves on the beam, (that's 6-8 feet for you Americans) and steady winds at 20 knots, we were flying at 8-10 knots. We arrived at Santa Eulalia on the island of Ibiza, just north of the town of Evissa. It's a beautiful, craggy approach, and we actually have some footage of the sail which we will upload when we get a better connection, and can figure out how to get it from the camera to the iPad.

Another Night Of Knockin' About

The winds were gusting at 35 knots, or over 60 km/hr. or 50 mph.  The boats were trying to jump out of their berths like racehorses.  A couple of times we heard a very loud noise close by & asked each other, "What was THAT?!" & we rushed out on deck. 



On Top Of The Wave



 



Surfing Down The Wave



Serge thought one of the bumpers had burst on impact with our neighbour.  Another time he watched from on deck while our 60 ft. powerboat neighbour drifted closer & closer, within 8 feet & you ask yourself, "Is it going to stop?"  Yes, it did, but we found out the next day that one of his bow lines had snapped, that was probably the loud pop we heard.  We hadn't had a night this bad since our very 1st night aboard during the famous "bura" winds.  It's basically a feckin' hurricane.  Surveying the scene in the morning Serge found a 6 in. piece of plastic moulding that did not come from our boat.  Some one had broken something & it was on our boat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Watching For The Next Wave



After 3 nights we scheduled our departure for 8 am.  We woke up at 8 am., the Spanish culture is starting to wear off on us.  They don't party or dine until after 10 pm. so no one is raring to go bright & early, no wonder their economy is in the tank.  The sailing was wonderful in the bay, nice & flat, & then it gradually gets windier & wavier, & around the point Serge wants to turn back. I say NO, SOLDIER ON!!  A couple of minutes later, a huge wave breaks over the bow & rumbles towards ME, in the cockpit.  Serge again suggests we turn back & I say, good idea, LET'S!  He then notices a band flapping beside the boat in the waves, I grab ahold & it turns out it's attached to the bow. As I pull it in with much effort, I see it's the ice cream cone bouy from the anchor chain, to mark our anchor in a bay.  It's full of sea water, so weighs a ton, but I muscle it onboard.  We end up anchoring in a quiet bay & taking the dinghy ashore with the outboard, something we had yet to do.  Everything worked GREAT! 



 



Safe At Aanchor. Whew!



We'll try to get to Ibiza again tomorrow morning, but as I write this, we're in a British pub (drinking beer),full of British men drinking beer, & 1 woman drinking beer & a boy watching football.  Wait, now we're all watching a TV program.  What a bunch of silly, corny crap, no wonder the world is going to hell in a handbasket, the pillars of British righteousness have been reduced to porridge.

Palma de Mallorca

We had a small window of weather to cross to Palma de Mallorca, there is a big storm coming and big winds for a few days. The total passage is just over 100nm. But you are exposed to the open sea all around. We motored all the way....sailing would have taken double the time. We had to be there to take delivery of our new mainsail
from North, which we had bought in Croatia, to be delivered here. Only problem is that the sail got here first, and they are all closing shop tomorrow for the Holidays. We had to come now or wait for two weeks here. 

Taking Vanilla's pulse

We left at 4:30pm last night and gunned it all night. The wind and the waves were against us all the f'kn way. Huge waves and strong winds, both on the nose. Big stuff,
big waves 2 to 3 meters, on the nose. Up and down and sideways, non stop. Cynthia was feeling her guts lock up so lay down in the cockpit, & never got up.  She did wake up a few times, & we spent a memorable hour in the early morning watching shooting stars.  There must have been 30 or 40, some real fireballs too.  It was spectacular.  And she saw a couple of "flares" again.  These are like magnesium lights, faster than a plane, of which there were quite a few, but slower than a shooting star.  They were IN FRONT of the clouds.  One tracked a short distance across the sky & the other stayed pretty much in one spot.  She saw a big fireball streak down to the horizon later, & it had the hazy glow of being viewed through the clouds, so she had something to compare it with. 

After 17 hrs we pulled in the marina in Palma.  There was a MEGA yacht trying to raise her jib in the harbour, & we felt like midgets when we pulled in, there were so many huge boats. 



Mega-yacht with jib problems.



It is a top of the line marina, and cheaper than some crappy other ones we were in. I had a hard time walking straight, everything was still moving. Anyways, we'll have to stay here for a couple of days and let the storm pass, mainly high winds...gale warning in effect.



Highly specialized rigging tool







There's nothing quite like approaching a new town at dawn from the sea.  First of all, you're so bloody grateful to see land again, hell, grateful just to be alive!  This is a famous tourist place, & I can see why.  The old captain was right, Mahon is not to be missed.  Impressive cliffs, deep inlet & the palm trees & condos remind me of Florida's intra-coastal waterway.  Some Sat. morning sailboats greet us at it's entrance, followed by a flotilla of Optimist dinghys tethered together & being towed by a Zodiac.  We pass little coves filled with moored sailboats & as we pull into the fuel dock we have to spin a few circles to avoid ramming into a kayak race.  More kids jousting for position, a couple capsizing, & lots of cajoling & cackling.  I love this family oriented place.  We just miss the marina office closing, so we dock ourselves & try to figure out how to pass through the locked dock gate.  Some older guys come marching down the dock carrying a plywood dinghy & we both think, "there's no way they're all going fishing together in THAT thing."  Turns out they were setting a course for their America's Cup remote control model boat racing.  There's racing for all ages here!  We ask about the office being closed & one of them replies, "So, it's free then!"   Terrific.  Only how to get in & out?  We discuss the merits of a short dinghy ride, but then think we have to worry about the dingy.  Instead we rig a lanyard on the handle of the gate.  What a larcenous bunch we've become. 
I can see why this is a favourite summer resort, it's charming, & the people are so friendly, even in winter.  Too bad we have to leave Mon. morning before dawn.  Before the marina office opens, heh, heh, heh.  As it turns out, the sea had other plans, after beating our brains out in the waves against the wind, we turn around, 10 miles into our 100 mile crossing to Mallorca.  Our jib halyard also snapped, another reason to turn around.  Luckily the sail was still wrapped around the stay.   So here we are, nonchalantly sailing back into the marina, pretending we are just arriving.  Pretty clever, eh?  This time we were greeted by the manager.  He gives us the full treatment, & I'm waiting for Serge's guilt or big mouth to give us away.  He keeps it together.  The bathrooms & showers are in a portable again, but the ladies room does not lock, it doesn't even close properly, there is a "modesty" fence with ivy but the steps up to the bathroom put you in full view of a busy road.  And it's cold.  I have to be careful how I bend down to dry my legs, or there may be a major accident.  Later, to get an internet connection when the office is closed, we pile into the men's room w/our electronic devices, only to discover that there are quite a few boaters in the marina, they all have to use the ladies.  HA, maybe someone will complain about the lack of privacy. 
Getting & staying connected has been a major problem.  We find the store for another 3g card for the iPad, only Serge has forgotten his passport again, a recurring theme.  When we start back to get it, I ask him, "Where's the computer?"  He gives me this blank look, & figures he put it down at the 3g store.  Holy shite, we tear back to the store, uphill several blocks on cobblestones, the terrible consequences running through our heads.  He looks on the floor, it's GONE!  Some grampa is taking pictures of some customers w/the people behind the counter, it feels like we're interrupting a family gathering, but when we ask about the computer, the clerk points to it on a counter, WHEW!  What a bunch of honest folks here, in fact, maybe they are all related.

We had a terrific dinner at a waterfront restaurant, with amazing choices like, "Stuffed foie crocante of hazelnuts landfill of "ointment","Sirloin of veal w/soft cream of potato violet, air of his bones, and truffle" or "Broad beans & peas w/false ink of trumpet of death"  You get feckin' Irish poetry on the menu!  Not to mention caramel of scum for dessert!  Too bad there was no room for the Eatable Gin Tonic.

Came pretty close to this guy

No, this is not a nude beach, stop squinting

Some original fortifications

Our Optimist gaggle

One of several little coves

We're beside the catamaran

The "other" side of town

The parade begins w/instructions from the tuba

Ferry leaving

 Internet bums waiting for Cafe Ars to open

Teulada to Menorca

We wake up in our scenic secluded marina & decide we need to buy something.  There must be something missing in our lives, so we take stock & decide 4 rolls of toilet paper is cutting it too close, so to town for toilet paper it is.  Secluded is an understatement, it's 7 km to town, up & down hill, mostly up it seems, and blowing a gale.  Surely someone will stop & pick us up.  Not a chance.  Get into town at siesta time, anywhere between noon & 5 pm. depending on the town.  This means it closes down tighter than a rusty nut.  We strut like a couple of real desperados, as a wave of door shutting is announcing our approach.  Frantically realizing our mission could be severely compromised we dart about every street & see someone in the distance exiting a store.  Eureka, it's open.  And a market.  Feeling like it could be our last encounter with food we start loading up, then realize we have to cart this shite all the way back.  So we limit ourselves to the REAL neccessities (like wine)& get something for a picnic lunch in the park.  More coldcuts & cheese.  We already have enough coldcuts & cheese in the boat to open a delicatessen, but that's what's on offer. 
On the way home we pass 3 seniors rummaging about in the roadside bushes, hmm, wonder what they're doing.  Picking berries for Myrto, the Sardinian special liquor.  She opens her hand to show me the purple berries which I had already ascertained at the internet cafe were myrtle berries.  I automatically pop one into my mouth of course & am rewarded with a sweet taste followed by an intensely bitter sensation.  I resist the urge to spit it out & soldier on until out of sight to spit it out.
Next we pass the mandarin orange grove with the faulty fence so I offer to go in & get some.  We hear dogs barking in the direction of the distant hacienda, at least 3.  Serge will wait on the other side & I'll throw him the oranges.  This seems agreeable to me as I've had half a litre of red wine.  I topple over the fence & grease up the knees of my freshly washed jeans, crap.  It wouldn't seem like such a shame if I had the ability to do laundry at any time, but I don't, there are no laundromats in Italy, or all of Europe as far as I can ascertain.  There is just not the same premium placed on having clean clothes, in fact, it's MUCH, MUCH higher.  About the cost of having it done at a 5 star hotel.   Anyway, I toss him the oranges in rapid fire succession as I imagine the dog barking is getting closer.  He manages to catch about 2 out of 3.  Back over the fence, no shooting or biting, whew.

This is how we like the sea, FLAT

The full moon is especially bright this evening

Cliff where the dolphin came from

Other side of cliffs

When we leave at dawn the next morning is completely still and I'm on the foredeck securing the dinghy.  Serge calls me to look at something.  It's a dolphin who breaches 3 times at right angles to come to meet us.  He swims with us for a few minutes & I squeal like a kid at Christmas.  He turns sideways to look at me before he goes and I swear it's the same one I've been seeing since Messina.  A big grey stripe on his side.  We feel this is a good omen for our first long passage just the two of us.
 

Cagliari to Teulada

Upon closer inspection in daylight Marina del Sole looks more like Marina del Hole, w/scratch & smell effects.  But it grew on me with time.  It was more like a cruisers haven w/a trading space for books & sundries & a small courtesy car.  Never mind that the toilet is totally loose on it's fittings & on the floating dock it shakes around in every boat's wake.  We managed to find an internet cafe right across the street from a lavanderia!(laundromat)  What luck!  After spending some time online in the little  hole in the wall we find a fabulous place for lunch.  The waiter spoka gooda English & gave us several variations of the fixed menu to argue about.  All Sardinian specialities.  See picture. 
We also found an Apple store to buy an iPad as we were addicted to Terry's for the iSailor app.  Now that we were off the charts, literally, we also wanted a new paper chart for the Balearics, to back up iSailor.  We went to 3 marine stores, w/3 big bags of dirty laundry, looking for a chart.  It seems everyone already knows what's out there, so there aren't any charts, sorry.  Finally we found an old captain who had a stock of old charts, & we got one, for 10 euros!  What luck!  Except we realize later that it's 40 yrs. old!  What luck!  Good thing there aren't many landslides & earthquakes here.  
We got the iPad w/a 3G chip w/the understanding it would be activated by 08:00 the next morning.  You have to provide ID to activate any sim cards so Serge had had to return to the store (uphill) last evening (in the rain) w/his passport (I passed).  10:00 next morning still no activation.  Serge inquires at marina office who calls the apple store who say it will be 24 to 48 hrs. for activation!  No answer at 3G store.  Serge has a fit & punches the nav table.  Nav table wins.  Serge thinks he broke his little finger knuckle.  I think I'll break it for him.  His right palm swells to the size of a lemon & I have nothing frozen to put on it, as we deactivated the giant empty freezer.  His ego shrinks to the size of a sunflower seed as he realizes the jeopardy this puts our venture in.  Within minutes we're activated.  We postpone our departure another day, which gives me the opportunity to pick up those cute Italian leather boots that were on offer at the trading table.  Plus I'll need something to wear to kick Serge in the ass. 

We can't decide what feckin' beautiful morning this is.  But we're pretty sure it's sunrise.

This is only the anti-pasti!  2 courses w/wine, dessert, coffee, cookies, liqueur for 21 euros ea.!

The 1st lighthouse south of Cagliari

Rounding southern cape, 2 more lighthouses

Rocky cape

With gale force wind in the forecast, we cast off without a hitch the next day.  Strong winds push us out of the harbour at a speed peaking at 11 knots, but after rounding the corner we have to sail upwind in 2 meter waves & strong headwind.  The rocky coast is striking.  We don't have any paper or iSailor charts for it, so hope we don't strike anything.  Keep your eyes on the depth sounder, but ignore the alarms it keeps giving out for "Deep Depth".  Honestly, that's what it's warning you about, it's too deep. Otto the auto pilot gets a rest as Serge has to anticipate the steering (with his left hand)  Make it into Teulada, some 40 miles away, at 15:00.  It's a secluded port with a brand new marina.  Watch the sunset, have dinner, & go to bed early. 
Sorry about 2 posts in 2 hrs., but Spain has high speed free feckin' wifi everywhere, even at Burger King.