Cartagena, Spain

If the Menorca leg was where we started to notice the cold, the trip to Cartagena is where it became the most present part of the journey. The winds and the course were definitely in our favour more than they had been for months. We were still beating to make progress towards Spain, but the route we chose skirted along the southern coast of the Balearic islands, staying close to land for cell signal, important emotional support, and some shelter from the north westerlies along the way.

Unlike our most recent few passages, setting off into the ocean with screenshots of the weather for the coming days on the iPad, now we could replot our route as we went along and adjust for the fickle forecasts of the Med as they updated. 

Yet the bright, warm sailing during the day was a necessary respite from the bitter nights. After dark the temperatures plunged quickly down to single digits, pushed even further by the wind and the damp. Each night was a battle with the elements to be comfortable enough in the stern pilot seat and last through one's watch, gritting against the cold wind. On the last night arriving finally in Cartagena, the cold was so extreme that the person on watch could only bear to do so from below, poking his or her head out every 10 minutes for a bit until the shivering took over and we had to retreat back into the sheltered cabin.

Finally rounding the point into the harbour at 3am the place appeared ominous and picturesque. A cruise ship terminal, gas processing facility and military shipyard sit clustered around the water, with the pair of marinas huddled in the middle. A thick fog lay in folds over the swaying masts and a dense wall of noise from the huge flock of seagulls circling over the fishing harbour, diving and swooping to snap chum from the water. A lone marinero helped us tie up and then wished us goodnight in broken English. We had a roasting hot engine water shower and slept like the dead cuddled up in the front cabin.

When we woke up, that world was gone. A friendly guy directed us to our winter berth and helped us snuggle into the pontoon where we promptly met the neighbours. The charming Dutch with their fabulous motor yacht from the far east (never thought we’d call a motor boat fabulous, but this one truly is), the Brit and Lithuanian pair using their boat as a mobile office for their wine reselling business, the French family trying to get their boat back to Normandy.

After a day spent trying to check in and being firmly told that we really needn’t bother, we were collected by Andre, Belinda, Oliver and Renate for a night in town where they introduced us to the dangers of 3 Tapas + a bottle of wine for 20 euros and we shared the stories of how we all made it to this funny, former Roman harbour town on the south coast of Spain.

The next day they also invited us to join their Christmas table, combined with the Sunday barbecue held weekly next to the marina office. We feasted happily under the Spanish sun that finally broke through the fog, drinking bottles of regional wine pulled out of Oliver’s bilge, and talking about plans for the winter.

The funny thing about plans though, is that they tend to change…