After cruising Spain and Portugal for a couple of months, we finally made it through the Pillars of Hercules into the Med. We spent a boisterous but fun day sailing from Barbate, Spain to the "Rock" of Gibraltar. It was blowing 20 out of the east (on the nose of course) so we tacked five or six times across The Straits, flirting between two continents, with Africa on the south side, Europe on the north, and loads of ships in between. At any given moment we would have about ten ships in sight. The ships were westbound out of the Med on the European side and eastbound on the African side — all condensed into the space of about 10 miles. We tried to ride in the current as much as possible — I think we made it most of the way. The breeze seemed to lighten and lift us as we approached the Moroccan side; then it would increase and knock us as we neared the Spanish side. We had a blast working all the angles, trying to make our best speed into Gibraltar playing with reefs, trim and dagger boards. Zia was covered with salt stem to stern, as were we, but we felt the exhilaration of putting in a good day’s work sailing our ship.

Tacking between continents.

The Rock

We were excited to explore Gibraltar, since it is its own little territory attached to Great Britain. The official language is English, and the official currency is the Gibraltar Pound, which is pegged to the English pound Sterling. Whatever you call it, it really stings the wallet, since the exchange rate is two dollars per pound — eek. I never knew how unappetizing a $9 hamburger could be. Needless to say we ate on the boat as much as possible during our stay. We spent one glorious day on a hike up and around the Rock. We saw the caves, the siege tunnels and the sort-of -tame monkeys all in the space of a few miles of easy hiking. Gibraltar has a long history of conquest and reconquest dating back to BC days, and it is still kind of simmering to this day. In a nutshell, Great Britain has it, and Spain wants it, although there exists a strong movement for nationalization. We happened to be there for "National Day" — although the subtler aspects of the politics escaped us, the whole Rock was celebrating. The nationalistic colors are red and white so we dressed up, joined the throngs, and ate, drank and partied like locals.

I could get into real trouble with this caption...

 

National Day in Gibraltar.

Tourist Factories

After loading up on duty-free fuel in Gibraltar, we moved on up the Costa Del Sol of Spain. Much of what we saw in this area was like a poster child for ugly crowded tourist development. Mega-hotels line the beaches, and thousands upon thousands of tourists are processed through these massive vacation factories each week. We sailed right past most of this, finding a beautiful little cove outside of a small city called Herradurra — not a single mega-hotel in sight. A sandy bottom and beautiful beach beckoned and decided to stay for a few days. We enjoyed walking the town and getting to know an extended family of locals. They came cruising by Zia on their skiboat and we struck up a conversation. Between our pathetic Spanish and their pretty decent English, we got to be friends and shared a cocktail hour aboard Zia.

Guests from Herradurra.

Surfing USA

The next morning we had planned for a leisurely departure to sail directly to Valencia, but Mother Nature intervened. About 2 AM we almost rolled out of bed, swells rolling into our formerly peaceful bay. Zia was bucking into the swells and we could hear them exploding on the beach behind us. We wasted no time in hauling anchor and setting off into the night. We figured whatever was causing those swells would be catching up with us soon — and we were right. For the next day or so we had a gale blowing from behind. The waves in the Med tend to be short, steep and close together, just the conditions that Zia loves for surfing. With two reefs in the main and a reefed genny Zia was surfing into the teens. It got a bit tense on occasion, but more than a few times we mentioned how happy we were to have it blowing from the stern and not the bow. We managed to get a VHF weather forecast from Alicante Radio that told us the gale was blowing out and we could expect winds of force 4 to 5 for the last hundred miles of the trip. Valencia, here we come.

Our top surf speed.

Rescue at Sea

About three miles outside of Valencia harbor we were surprised to see a flare arc through the sunny sky. It looked like a red flashbulb, burning brightly even through the brilliant sunshine. We immediately turned towards it and soon made out a small red boat sitting dead in the water. The sole occupant of the boat explained that his engine conked out and the 15-knot breeze was blowing him out to sea. We offered a tow into the harbor, which he gratefully accepted. Ruben, our rescuee, spoke great English and helped us secure a slip in the Marina. Then he offered us a personally guided tour of Valencia the next day along with his wife, Laura, which we gratefully accepted. Ruben and Laura picked us up and drove us to the downtown section of the city for a walking tour that included some playgrounds for the girls as well as plenty of sights for the adults. They then treated us to a real Valenciano tapas dinner at an outdoor café in a beautiful plaza. The food was great, although the girls spent most of the meal looking longingly at the McDonalds just down the block.

Ruben our Rescuee, and his wife Laura

Check out that Roach!

Valencia is the venue for the 2007 Americas Cup race, which will begin in earnest next June. We will try to put together a more detailed report on activity surrounding this sailing spectacle in a future article. Below is a shot of the South African entry, Shosoloza, crossing our bow outside of Valencia.

Shosoloza, the South African AC entry.