So near and yet, far too close

Each year we used to go to Formentera and each year we were there when the Real Nautic Club Calp yacht club raced their vessels into La Savina. We never saw them leave as we flew on the Saturday but their arrival was heralded with posters, placed the night before, (some) copies of which I have and the assemblage of the biggest BBQ likely seen on La Savina harbour side. Indeed, one of my most vivid memories is of the year we had our accident when I was thoroughly drugged up and suffering from severe gravel rash lying in a stupor listening to their joyful celebrations outside.

Today we visited Real Nautic Club Calp. It was quite a flash yacht club, lots of glass, brass and signage which made it stand out in quite an ordinary place. We took coffee in "Dracula", good coffee, lousy graphics just across the road next to the man with the angle grinder cutting slabs and realised that most Spanish seaside towns are merely ill advised agglomerations of BTEC practical/GCSE coursework buildings of poor taste and worse form. Functionally they stand but one considers that to be an accidental result of pouring concrete so quickly that it finds it's own verticals.



It was good to see whence those yachts came and better still to move on as one can do with an immaculate VW Golf Polo, hired from Europcar, Voldemort, for three days and €60. Moving on would have been great but for a Spanish lady who deemed her Audi would be better stopped by the rear wheel arch of a hired Polo than stopping at the junction's give way sign through Vorsprung duh Technic, or whatever. I think she was on the phone at the time but the Polo did stop her quite successfully. She seemed quite contrite but seeing as I was too busy pointing and shooting the words went whoosh. We filled in forms, listened, made noises and eventually left the scene a trifle dazed and confused.

Once again the management had methodically appraised the situation and found an English translation of said form which had she mentioned it earlier may have saved a not inconsiderable amount of shouting and even more anguished arm waving and camera pointing.

What my manager did mention was the fact that on Spanish accident forms, carried by all and filled out as and when, there's a box which you tick if it's you fault. This the white Audi lady had ticked so I was mollified, pacified and encouraged to get in the car and drive on .... on the right, the right, the RIGHT!

The rear wheel arch was somewhat the worse for wear, the wheel scored and grazed, the tyre slightly wounded but in all respects still serviceable, especially when compared to many other vehicles one casually notices and raises one's eyebrows at.

A few very gentle miles of ear straining and lighter that usual movements of steering, brakes and throttle failed to find cause for concern so pressing on with plan "A" was deemed "do-age".

Just as well. If there's a harbour you have to walk all round it, if a quay down it to the very end, if a point it has to be stood on.  Cap De La Nou was just such a place. It had to be stood on, walked round and then it had to be done all over again.

From Cap De La Nou you could see a lump of land, central on the horizon in the photo but too far away for clarity. It could only be Ibiza. If it was then Formentera couldn't be far away but to establish that one would need binoculars, hence the return to the recently bent hired Polo. Sure enough, just to the south you could make out Cap Barbera. I know it's nigh on 60 miles away but you could see it, Ibiza without binoculars, Formentera with!

The excitement was palpable and then I noticed that my expressions of joy and delight were merely carried on the wind as I was alone, the second ramble being unaccompanied and unrealised up to this point.

Consideration of the sailors of Real Nautic Club Calp has left me feeling a little cheated by them. For many years I thought them brave crossers of ocean tracts not just casually sailing from the mainland to the nearest lump of rock just over there and in Mediterranean conditions, seeable, at least from the mast head, if not the deck.

Oh, well, next June we'll miss them again as we'll be there after they've left. I can feel the excitement building already!

What a great day, Formentera sighted, spoiled only by a lady in an Audi.

160kms trouble free, 5 metres of grief and your whole day is coloured.
White.
Grrrrrrrrrrr.

Tomorrow, the mountains inland, Baranc de l'Ario valley, Guadalest and, hopefully, no Spanish ladies, or any others, for that matter. Let's hope the VW Polo has gathered all the scars it's going to collect whilst in our hands, and if this time tomorrow that has proved to be so then maybe we'll take it back a day early and save it from any more angst.