We left Valencia for a 175-mile sail to Barcelona in early September. We had enjoyed our time in Valencia and were looking forward to seeing Barcelona. We hoisted sail around noon in light southerlies - of course we were headed almost due north so we had lots of diesel fumes in our future. The trip was calm, and happily, the Med didn't whack us with any of the smorgasbord of named storms that it can serve up. The Mistral, Levanter, Scirocco and all of the others took the day off, at least on the east coast of Spain.

At the end of my first watch, around 1AM I decided to switch engines from starboard to port. We generally run each engine for about 4 hours and then swap 'em so that we can keep the engine hours equal. The procedure is to fire up the sleeping engine and get it up and running, and then slowly back off on the hot engine and allow it to idle for 5 minutes to cool down. As I shut down the starboard engine, I could not get the gear lever to go back into neutral. I didn't want to lean on it too hard and break something, but it was definitely stuck tight. It was dark and late and I decided to wait until morning to look it over. As I tried to sleep in my bunk, my mind was whirling with questions and theories on what might be broken and if I could fix it before we got to downtown Barcelona. Cruising on one engine is no problem at all, but maneuvering is a different story.

Zia is a delight to maneuver under power with two engines - she can turn a 360 in her own length, and if you account for wind and current correctly, you can pretty much always put her where you want her. But with a single engine, the delight turns to a nightmare. Try maneuvering around a dock on a single engine and she will turn pretty circles while drifting merrily downwind towards the expensive superyachts.

The next morning, after fortifying myself with a double coffee, I attacked the problem. It quickly became obvious that the shifting cable was stuck. When I removed the cable from the saildrive, I could move the shift lever from forward to reverse with just my fingers. Whew, that at least means no expensive transmission repairs. I started thinking about the problem and figured that I could have Christy crouched in the engine room changing gears on my command to get us into a slip. No, that won't work because: one, I need her to help with lines; and two, she would never hear my commands (make that requests) while crouched over the running engine. My next idea was a real Rube Goldberg job - I attached my 5-foot aluminum fishing spear to the shifter via a wire tie. The spear would allow Christy to sit on the stern steps and shift the engine, and maybe even jump around to handle lines as well. I got a few exasperated looks when we tested it out, but it worked fine, and we were both relieved that at least we would have two engines for docking in Barcelona.

Spear shifter.

We still had a good 6 hours before arrival in Marina Port Vell, so I put this time to use trying to unjam the shifting cable. WD40 to the rescue - after an hour of soaking, the cable started to loosen up, and after two hours it was working almost as good as new. I disconnected my super-duper spear shifting unit, reconnected the original cable, and we were back in business. Now that I know how the shifting cables work, I lubricate them every time I check the oil by transferring oil from the dipstick to the cable with my fingers. It might be messy, but it could save us a lot of grief some day.

Lubing the shift cable with dipstick oil.

It's a good thing that we had both engines, because when we arrived at the marina, we had to back into a tight slot between two boats in a driving rainstorm. Welcome to Barcelona - let's have a beer!

Nestled into a tight spot.

Barcelona is, almost without exception, everyone's favorite city in Spain. It is a strange but magical amalgam of cultures, languages and people. It is on the northern end of Mediterranean Spain, close to France. It is the major city of Catalunya which is a separate culture that spans both France and Spain - similar in concept to the Basques. The official language in Barcelona is Catalan although most people also speak traditional Spanish called Castellano. All of the street signs and metro announcements are in Catalan which to my ear sounds like a melodious combination of Spanish and French with maybe a dash of Russian thrown in. In reading up on Catalunya, we discovered that Catalans consider themselves the creative engine of Spain. Art, literature, music and architecture are all near and dear to your average Catalunyan, and a quick walk around Barcelona will confirm this. Marina Port Vell is right in the heart of downtown Barcelona and a short walk will bring you to the main drag, called Las Ramblas. It is a gorgeous pedestrian promenade running for a mile or so into the city. Las Ramblas is an experience within itself. There are mimes every few hundred feet dressed in astonishing costumes; for some coins, they will do a small act and you can have your photo taken with them. There are flower stalls with an incredible array of fragrant bouquets for your best girl, restaurants and bars galore, and crowds of people all seeming to vibrate with a special energy and enthusiasm. Spaniards seem to be an expressive and talkative crowd - and more often than not, when you see a group of two or more, they will be talking and gesticulating animatedly.

A live mime on Las Ramblas.

Halfway up Las Ramblas is La Boqueria, the farmers market, which is jam-packed with stalls selling just about everything you can think of to eat. Imagine glistening vegetables, fresh octopus, filleted rabbit and feathered headless chickens crowded in with stalls selling sizzling tapas and beer, and you will get the idea.

La Boqueria market.

On our first weekend in Barcelona we witnessed a parade of giants walking around Plaza Catalunya - the crowds were tremendous but the girls managed to climb up a statue and watch from a high perch with the pigeons.

Giant parade in Barcelona.

Making like pigeons to watch the parade.

Barcelona has some of the most interesting (wildest?) architecture that we have ever seen. A Catalan named Gaudi is one of the biggest names - imagine IM Pei and Frank Lloyd Wright rolled into one. His name is actually the basis for the word gaudy, and one look at his work will tell you why. Gaudi's work is ornate, nonlinear, decorated in a wild array of colors and textures that somehow manage to blend into a beautiful whole. Some of his designs seem to invoke Dali and his melting clocks.

Gaudi or gaudy?

We toured the Sagrada Familia (Sacred Family) temple - I think it would be best to let our pictures do the talking, since the building is totally beyond my powers to describe. Circling around the building, we notice that each side is completely different from the others in design and decor, yet they all seem to tie in perfectly together. Construction started in the early 1900s and continues full speed to this day. The projected completion date is around 2100 and I really wish that I could be around to see the finished temple. It is so unconventionally beautiful, even surrounded by industrial cranes, that I can hardly imagine what an impressive sight it will be when it is finally completed.

Gaudi's Sagrada Familia.

Inside the Sagrada

We fell in love with Barcelona and decided to spend the cold winter months holed up at a local marina. Before we settled down for winter in November, we spent a month or so visiting the Mallorca and the French Riviera. More to come on those destinations soon.