Menorca, Spain

The faint weather window that we chose for the way back to Menorca was at least an improvement on the Tunisia-Sardinia leg, nonetheless we definitely learned how valuable our engine is. Leaving in to the evening head-swell of almost 2 metres was definitely an uncomfortable start, but as expected, soon the waves settled down. The issue turned out to be making enough progress to windward as the wind swirled around by 10-15 degrees at a time. A broad reach would quickly become close-hauled or even a tack, and the engine stayed on constantly to ensure we were making enough progress before the strong winds which were due to arrive on the evening of day 3.

The character of the Balearic autumn made itself fully felt in the 3 day crossing. The cold and the wet of the European winter that we hadn’t really experienced till now gripped the boat from the sundown until the late mornings. Blowing down from the southern alps the bitter wind made our summery wardrobes feel very thin and during those hours we had to utilise every warm piece of clothing and waterproof we could, layering them like an onion. Those swirling cold winds also brought storms and although we plotted our course well to avoid them, the second night was spent with an alarming outlook over a 360° horizon constantly lit by lightning cracks. Sailing at night with no other vessel in sight for hours and even days, surrounded by storms was rather nerve wrecking, we focused on spotting the lighting and counted the seconds after each one to make sure we were out of the thunders’ sound range.

Needless to say, after 3 relatively sleepless days of constant rope adjustments, tacking and engine noise, we were very glad to see Menorca on the horizon. As the sun set and we slowly motored into the beginning of the long, natural cove that is Mahon, even in the dark we were stunned by the sheltered and beautiful old port city. The entrance reveals itself like a set-piece from Lord of the Rings as you follow buoys up the gorge where the blocky shapes of buildings and clusters of lights cover the steep hillsides and every small clump of island within the channel. Although the marina was closed for the Sunday evening we slowly manoeuvred into our spot in the calmest of waters and quickly fell asleep feeling very safe indeed.

Waking up after the cold nights of the open ocean during the crossing, the morning seemed to return summer to the world. Deeply sheltered from the wind, the sun flooded down into the steep and layered streets and steps of the city. Although not full of particular monuments, the whole city is a delight to explore, feeling preserved and transported from some other time. Alleys twist and wind through the stark geology, unexpectedly delivering you to the many courtyards and plazas of the city. Yet always, the place relates back to the sea and the water, with small boats ferrying people between the islands and kids having kayak races in the harbour. 

The experience of Mahon's concentrated life along the 3,5 miles long bay reminded us both of Jonathan Raban’s A Passage to Juneau (p.81): “When white settlers and missionaries began to travel aboard Indian canoes as passengers, they were baffled and irritated by the strange, slow, halting progress of even the simplest voyage… …The whites had entered a looking - glass world, where their own most basic terms were reversed. Their whole focus was directed toward the land: its natural harbours, its timber, its likely spots for settlement and agriculture. They travelled everywhere equipped with mental chainsaws and at a glance could strip a hill of its covering forest, and see there a future of hedges, fields, houses, churches. They viewed the sea as a medium of access to the all - important land. Substitute “sea” for “land,” and vice - versa, in that paragraph, and one is very close to the world that emerges from Indian stories, where the forest is the realm of danger, darkness, exile, solitude, and self - extinction, while the sea and its beaches represent safety, light, home, society, and the continuation of life.
The civilization of the coastal Indians was centred on a thin ribbon of shoreline between the water and the woods. Their grandly substantial wooden houses, with family crests painted on their fronts, flanked by carved totemic posts and poles, faced out to sea, their backs turned to the forbidding land. Going into the forest was distinctly more dangerous than going to sea: its hazards were more unpredictable and less easily avoided than the maelstroms and krakens of the deep.”

After the weeks in Italy, the arrival in Spain was also a welcome change. Supplies for the boat were suddenly cheap again and we took advantage of the varied cuisines by heading to a delicious Mexican restaurant whilst waiting for our clothes at the Laundromat. Menorca in the off-season definitely felt like a lazy paradise, a sea village hidden away from what we knew were harsh, early winter seas.