It was a relief to leave San Antoni, even without a telephone. Not far to the south is the quiet island of Formentera, where we found anchorage in a snug little bay on Isla Espalmador. Miss Perfect swam while I ate Prozac by the handful and dozed.
The days are hot and humid. Sunset comes as a blessing. In the morning the cockpit is drenched with dew. I sit in pre-dawn light with coffee and pretend to smoke a cigarette. I have been wondering whether I could roll and smoke one of those Nicorette skin patches but so far haven’t succumbed to the idea.
The west coast of Formentera is just a long sandy beach. There must be several hundred vessels at anchor here – 3 masted timber schooners, 500 foot long gentleman’s motor yachts, cruising yachts of every known description, bling boats with blue underwater lighting, and macho-man runabouts. But for all that, it is a relief to be away from those rafts of EVSC charter yachts which fill Adriatic waters. And there is plenty of room for us all, even the catamarans with 500 passengers.
At 6 tonight we leave for Alicante, 90 miles across the Ibiza Channel on the Spanish mainland.