The Dream, the Reality, and the Adventure…

The Dream. 

Dear fellow adventurers (and wannabe aforementioned); or those seekers of serenity. Let’s set the scene for a wee story that’s going to take you on a journey across the azure playground of the Mediterranean. Picture this; you, a boat, and a sea so blue it’ll make you think the sky’s doing double duty. In your mind we’re gonna ride the waves of life, chase the wind, and let the salty breeze blow away all your worries. The scene in your mind is set. The Med beckons; you’ve rolled the dice. Committed. 

Now, before we dive in, let’s talk about the Mediterranean Sea. It’s like Mother Nature decided to mix a bit of ocean, a sprinkle of sea, and a dash of magic to create this mystical playground. The sea’s got more shades of blue than you’ve got thoughts in your head after a couple of hours of star-gazing. It’s where the waves sing songs that’ll serenade your soul and the sun paints your skin with stories that you’ll carry forever. 

As you set sail, you’ll find yourself dancing with the wind, your boat rocking and rolling like a partner in an ethereal waltz. The sails catch the breeze like they’re sharing secrets with the heavens, and you’ll realise that you’re part of something bigger than yourself – you’re riding the same waves that’ve cradled the dreams of sailors, poets, and philosophers throughout the ages. It’s like finding a piece of yourself in the embrace of the sea. It’s an intellectual organism. 

Now, let’s talk islands. The Mediterranean’s got more islands than you can shake a mussel shell at. Each one’s a gem, like a little piece of paradise that dropped from the sky and landed right in the middle of the sea. You’ll hop from one to the other, feeling like a kid in a candy store, exploring beaches that stretch like they’re reaching for the horizon. You’ll meet locals with smiles as warm as the sun, sharing stories that’ll make you feel like you’ve known them for years.

Some challenges, for sure. I’ll start with docking. It’s an art form; like finding the perfect spot to cast your fishing line – you need patience, finesse, and a certain amount of luck. Not a natural state this aft to, Med mooring, for any Kiwi sailor; it’s like learning Mongolian. But when you nail it, you’ll feel like you’ve just hit the jackpot. Steer clear of the casino, luck is for the fair weather sailor. Trust me I know. Weather? Thats like an indecisive girlfriend the first time you’ve taken her to a flash restaurant. No jackpot to be found. Even the experts can’t predict that outcome!  Three states of weather prevail – the wind is either too strong, there’s not enough, or it’s on the nose. And the forecast is generally wrong. 

And oh, the food! The Mediterranean cuisine is like a symphony of flavours, a fusion of cultures that’ll take your taste buds on a world tour that simply won’t deliver the fulfilment you’re craving while you’re Googling your next holiday after you’ve finished reading this. You need to be here. From the freshest seafood that practically jumps onto your plate to the olive oil that flows like liquid gold over those delectable sun ripened tomatoes; every bite’s a reminder that life’s meant to be savoured. Drop the anchor, head into the taverna on the beach for the long late lunch, repeat. 

And let’s not overlook the locals. As you meander through these charming coastal villages, you’ll encounter inhabitants who’ve perfected the art of leisure like it’s an Olympic sport. They’re like cats basking in the sun, content and carefree, with an air of nonchalance that would make a philosopher raise an envious eyebrow. Conversations will flow like a Monty Python script – one minute you’re discussing the weather, and the next you’re engaged in a lively debate about the merits of olive oil as a universal panacea.

So, my fellow travellers, dreamers, adventurers or spiritual seekers of “whatthefuckever”; if you’re thinking of sailing the Mediterranean, do it with the spirit of a true adventurer, ready to embrace the unknown, your fears or insecurities; soak in the beauty, and let the sea whisper its secrets in your ear. It’s a journey that’ll light up your soul, help you find your rhythm, and remind you that life’s all about chasing horizons and discovering your own self, your dreams; you. So, set sail, my friends, in whatever way represents the dream for you, and let the sea be your guide on this ride of a lifetime. Peace, love, and smooth sailing. 

The Reality.

And then I woke up, realising the thoughts above were my dream; frantically kicking the sheet off lower body in the early morning heat, sweat running down my already sun bronzed chest. All I wanted was the ocean. The heat is oppressive. Stumbling from my cabin in the forward part of the yacht out into the cockpit, and not even waiting a moment to see if another yacht had anchored close enough to take shock at a naked sailor falling into the ocean. It’s 9am and already 30 degrees after an overnight low of 28 and humidity high enough to grow mushrooms. The water is almost the same temperature as the air but it brings some relief from the restless night just passed. 

I think back; two years of false starts, the pain, the doubts, the financial stress and effort of trying to get our old yacht ready to sell in a crashing global economy when you’re building another, packing up your house as you prepare to move countries and onto a new yacht that’s been two years of work and multiple trips to Finland in a quest to get it perfect. The attention to detail was well beyond my wandering mind.  Add to that three operations and months of uncertainty as my wife goes through breast cancer.  Can we go, do we need to cancel; what do we do with a yacht that’s rolling out of the factory in Finland.  Can’t stop the train.  It was crazy.

As my mind clears in the warm Mediterranean water that’s wrapping itself around me and bringing back to a state of semi-human, I think back a few months prior; the flood of emotion that bore down upon me as we touched down in Europe to pick up our new yacht was bordering on biblical.  It’s not like I was expecting the Red Sea to part before me with divine lights, illuminating my path to hope and serenity; actually I was… A moment of clarity – I was deluded.

We were tied, emotionally drained.  The path to get here was hard and it had taken its toll.

So the dream of a new yacht, sailing the azure waters of the Med is a good one. But…

To set the scene, the first few months looked a bit like this:

Fly from New Zealand to Finland to sign off the yacht, Fly Back to New Zealand. Fly to Barcelona and spend 5 weeks launching and commissioning yacht, sail to Palma then Algeria to check the yacht out of the EU. Sail from Algeria to Ibiza then Formentera. Sail back up to Palma then various parts of Mallorca’s coast.  Then Cabrera, Formentera, Ibiza.  Back to Palma.  Then Mallorca Coast, back to Palma.  Back to Barcelona.  Fly to New Zealand.  Fly back to Barcelona.  Sail to Menorca.

I can’t even draw that on a map for you.  It makes me dizzy.  And tired.

It’s important to understand that all yachts have a personality.  And for the first 3 months, I’d describe ours as a difficult child!  Like on all new yachts, some stuff doesn’t go quite as expected. Don’t get me wrong, Nautor build great yachts, but we are talking about a complex beast here. It’s a small floating city with so many systems I won’t even go there. The reality is, the first time you road test these things properly and see if all the individual components work together in harmony, is when you leave the dock! Let’s just say that the first 3 months were a bit trying. And I got grumpy. I tried Nautor’s patience. They, as always, were tolerant of my mood and responsive; they got everything sorted, but it meant disruption to our sailing with unscheduled deviations to my aforementioned dream plan.  So we spent a bit of time heading for ports with expertise to sort things out.  But thank you Nautor and Nautor Swan Global Services.  I can’t fault your commitment to the owners of your yachts.  That’s why you buy a Swan.

But I’d like to put this in context.  If something breaks in your house, it’s a pretty straightforward forward process.  You call someone in, leave the house for the day; and just like magic, when you get home later that day, everything is fixed.  It’s just not quite the same on a yacht.  When something goes wrong, you spend the first half a day troubleshooting to try and work out what the issue it.  This can mean a couple of hours on the phone to a technician many miles away (language barriers can sometimes complicate this process), sending photos of various bits with scrawled notes on them, then making a decision about how to resolve said issue.  That usually means a day’s sail to a port you hadn’t planned on going to – invariably in the wrong direction. Then you have a couple of days in that port getting the issue sorted out, then off you head again, back to where you started.  Average elapsed time? 4 days.

I want to be clear here; we love our new Coco. The Swan 58 is a stunning yacht (and as it turns out she’s very photogenic according to all the cameras that turn up each time we enter a new port). Living on her is incredible, inside and out. It’s beautifully finished, stylish as hell and sails like a dream. Yes we’ve had some teething issues, that’s not uncommon; it was also about our headspace and being in the right place to take this challenge on. So make no mistake, we love our new Swan 58 Coco. She’s bloody awesome and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

My fellow adventurers, this is why we love sailing.  It’s challenging, there is rarely a dull moment.  It’s a lifestyle that isn’t a lifestyle.  It’s a commitment to your yacht and the ocean.  When it all comes together, the rewards are inexplicable.  

Adventure – part one, cheating my way to Barcelona 

To embark on my depiction of the following cunning plan, I will quote the immortal and lyrical words of Freddy Mercury;

Barcelona!
It was the first time that we met
Barcelona!
How can I forget
The moment that you stepped in the room
You took my breath away…

So I listened to Freddy, I bought into the dream, and we made a call not to sail from Finland to the Med. The romance of sail is fine fancy, but it’s a bloody long way from Finland to Barcelona (about 3,800 nautical miles in fact) and the weather in the Baltic during May when Coco was completed, is quite frankly, crap; and it’s cold. I’ve done it before, and it’s long and tedious sail down the Baltic to the English Channel, then down the West Coast of Portugal and Spain to Gibraltar; not to mention the rudder snapping Orca infested waters in that region. I’d bashed my way down the Baltic once before in our Swan 54 about 5 years ago and the thought of doing it again was about as appealing as boiled cabbage.

So, weighing up our options, the thought of the warm weather at Nautor Swan Global Services in Badalona, a few kilometres north of Barcelona, with the Med on our doorstep, well, you know, the answer was just a yes.  So yes, I cheated and it was worth it. We found a truck, quite a big truck actually, to transport Coco overland from the north of Finland to the warm eastern shores of Spain.

The plan was good, but expecting a few relaxed and straight forward weeks of commissioning process in the delightful (and warm) coastal town of Badalona just north of the beautiful city of Barcelona turned into a work filled 5 weeks of getting this thing ready to sail. My delusional approach to life tripped me up once again. Think rig, sails, systems, electronics, sea trials, modifications, sheets, towels, cutlery, plates, kitchenware, storage systems. Seriously, I could go on! So we arrived stressed and exhausted, we departed Badalona stressed and exhausted. However, there are no regrets in choosing Badalona to launch and commission Coco. Great beaches, awesome restaurants and a great crew at the Nautor Swan Global Services yard.

Then we had a new yacht to learn, getting my head around sailing a new region of the world, learning the weather, and understanding all the various customs, immigration, port rules and regulations. And then, as I should have expected, that’s when those new yacht bedding in challenges started…. A nose dive at high speed into real world sensibility.  My least favourite place in the world.

The first job was to deal with the VAT problem, like all foreign registered yachts in the Med need to. that means a trip to a country outside the EU, which are dwindling in numbers as more of them sign up. For us, we wanted the closest one the Barcelona. And that was the main port in Algeria on the north coast of Africa.  Some 280 nautical miles directly south.

I mean what could possibly go wrong? Pirates, refugees, 100’s of fishing nets to dodge off the coast in the dark… We found an agent to help with the mountain of paperwork, bought 10 cartons of cigarettes to thank the various officials we would meet, and off we went. Barcelona, Palma, Algeria, Ibiza. Check Coco back into the EU. Job done. Don’t have to worry about that again for another 18 months!

From there we had a pretty good look around the coast of Ibiza – wow.  What a terrible time our year to be in that part of the world!  Chaos on the water.  Chaos on the land.  Charter yachts, jets skis, power boats, super yachts bigger than a small town – all moving at top speed through the anchorages creating small tidal waves and washing machine like conditions on the water.  Beaches and beach bars crowded with Instagram influencers (whatever the fuck they are – still trying to work out what value they bring to the world) in tiny sparkling bikinis and flowing robes.  Young people still high from the previous nights debauchery eating 100 Euro Wagyu Burgers to satiate their hangovers.  We ran for cover down the far end of the nearby island of Formentera with a handful of other sailors searching for sanctuary.

But in saying all this, we did see some lovey parts of the Balearic Islands.  We fell in love with Palma on the main island to Mallorca.  A beautiful old town, markets and food that rivals some of the best in the world.  We met some wonderful people who have become great friends and have helped us out multiple times (yes that’s you Neus, Adela and Matias – legends in the Palma sailing community).

Cabrera Island about 30 miles south west of Palma, a national park and a place of significant history.  Ransacked, held and lost over the millennia, and a home for 9000 French prisoners of war in 1808, left there with no resources to survive this barren environment (only 3600 made it home many years later).

On the south and western coast of Mallorca we loved places like Andratx, Sant Elm and the nearby island of Dragonera, and the port of Soller. And we did love the island of Formentera, not far from Ibiza. One end of it is a beautiful sand spit with restaurants adorning it, primarily higher end kitchens dispensing meals starting at 150 Euros a plate, with super yachts swinging lazily on their anchors awaiting the return of their guests. The rest of the island is lovely. Amazing anchorages, great restaurants, a little bohemian and awesome to visit. If you can visit here in the shoulder season, you’ll love it. 

The hiking and running around these parts is fabulous.  Hundreds of trails through the wilderness and along the coastline.  Heat is the only killer in these parts.  You probably read that parts of Europe had scorching temps this summer.  We slowly broiled ourselves on some of these days climbing a mountain or running some beautiful part of the coastline gasping for water like an ultra marathon runner in Death Valley.

But then, just as we were hitting our straps, we had an unplanned trip back to New Zealand for family reasons; 20,000km and about 30 hours of flying each way.  We were tired when we left Europe, we were tired when we got back to Europe 3 weeks later. However it gave the team at Nautor Swan Global Services in Badalona time to sort all the remaining niggles out and when we returned, we felt like we’d crested the last wave and things were looking brighter. 

Adventure – part two, a new beginning 

It had been hard, emotionally and physically. But I wasn’t ready to give up. I had a yacht, a new part of the world to sail. I wanted to get my head around the Med weather (yes I know that’s an unobtainable goal, especially this year), the anchoring in strange places, docking Med style stern to in a gap only just big enough fit our tender.  I was back, like a Phoenix rising from the ashes of self pity!

And that decision to expedite our arrival into the Med and a launch in Barcelona, which took about 2 milliseconds and a bottle of wine one cold winter evening in Queenstown with Jack Frost doing his best to sneak through every crack in the house, was now a distant memory.  

While we were pretty worn out on our arrival back in Spain, it felt like we’d turned a corner and we were ready to love our new, and sometimes difficult child.  The clouds of postnatal yacht depression were lifting and we could see the sun.  All the issues sorted out and we were ready to sail!  Look, I’m sure other things will go wrong, that’s just the nature of yachts, but I think we are on our way.  When Toyota start building yachts, I’ll know that the industry has cracked it.  But that’s why car companies don’t build yachts; they are clever (and they are very clear in the instruction manual about not submerging your car in salt water under any circumstances).

So we set sail from Barcelona on a lovely afternoon bound for Menorca, the northernmost of the Balearic Islands. The sun was going down, it was warm, the breeze was gentle, dolphins riding the bow wave.  It was perfect.  I’m not making this up, it really was fabulous!  The dream was on my doorstep.

Before I dive into my next segment of prose, I’d like to dispel some of the reputational myths the Balearic Islands, namely Ibiza, Formentera, Mallorca and Menorca, face in terms of being a destination for unruly tourists.  Don’t get me wrong; Ibiza is totally a party Island, or a destination for the rich and famous with their super yachts, bulging wallets and private jets; its reputation is well founded.  However there are parts of the Island that are quite beautiful.  We discovered the best little beach bars ever, otherwise known as a Chiringuito. Casual, awesome locations, simple food and cold beer. Heavenly. 

Where I am sitting at the moment; the north coast of Mallorca in the port town of Alcudia; it’s full of high volume, low cost holiday package tourists with direct flights from Manchester, Bristol and Liverpool.  I can get a return flight for 100 quid and a room for two people for 40 pounds a night!  Just south of Palma is the delightfully odious seaside resort of Magaluf.  We went there for the day; fuck me. Next to each bar there is a tattoo parlour and a guy selling cocaine on every corner.  What could possibly go wrong?  Don’t go there unless you are 18 and on a bender (the locals call it Shagaluf, with good reason).  Maybe that’s where I caught the Covid; I’m currently lying in bed feeling sorry for myself with an oxygen level hovering at 92 and below wondering when I should seek medical attention…

Can I suggest, ignore what you’ve heard.  The beaches are wonderful, the coastline dramatic, granite peaks tower up into the sky.  The history is incredible – the islands were originally called Gymnesiae, meaning naked in Greek, because apparently its inhabitants were often nude due to the balmy climate (I refer back to Ibiza and Magaluf – obviously an ancient rite of passage).  First populated around 2500 BC, the inhabitants lived in caves and valued women so highly they would trade three or four men to ransom one woman.  Go figure!  Then came the Phoenicians who were promptly kicked out by the Romans and changed the name of the island group to Balearicus.

A bunch of Vandals arrived (yes actual people – Germans) and kicked the Romans out.  Not to be outdone, the Romans took it back around 500 AD.  Then came the Italian Crusades in the name of God followed by a bunch of Arab privateers hell bent on building up their dynasties. Relative stability came when James of Argon had a crack at Palma around 1200 AD, apart from the odd stoush with the Ottomans, the Turks and Barbary pirates from North Africa.  What’s my point – the walled old towns, the beautiful old streets, the castles, the cathedrals, fortifications, the ancient ruins; are all quite spectacular. When we came here I didn’t realise the beauty in the history this group of islands would behold.  And the food is wonderful and its people welcoming.

I digress… That overnight sail from Barcelona to Menorca when without a hitch.  We arrived in Mahon Harbour (Mao in local lingo) late morning and we were blown away.  Mahon Harbour is one of the longest natural harbours in the world – some 5 km long.  Interestingly enough, mayonnaise is thought to have originated from here! I’m not sure I’d hang my hat on that as a great achievement…. I won’t go into the history of this place, you can do that yourself on Wikipedia, suffice to say it had the general amount of waring and bloodshed you’d expect from a place with such an important harbour.

However, the old town, stone walls and fortifications were all magnificent. The restaurants and bars lined up along the port were tantalising.  We happened to be there during Mahon’s patron saint party – Festes de Gracia.  It’s pretty much an opportunity for the locals to go crazy, race horses through the streets, drink, eat and dance till dawn.  Love the Spanish.

Mahon was a great base to explore the island from, so we did.  Amazing beaches, restaurants tucked away in small villages, incredible hiking and running on the trail, Cami de Cavalls, that encircles the entire island some 185km long, having existed since 1330 when it was used to keep watch over the island.

Having outstayed our welcome on the eastern side of Menorca, we headed back west to the other end and parked up in the beautiful harbour of Ciutadella.  Look, I could wax lyrical, but it was pretty much more of the same.  We loved it. The only thing to watch out for in these long narrow harbours is the “Rissaga”. It’s a natural phenomenon that occurs, particularly in the Balearic Islands, and most often in the harbour of Ciutadella.  A Rissaga is the oscillation of sea level in ports, coves or bays; motivated by meteorological causes such as strong winds and / or warm air at low levels of the atmosphere. So fundamentally, rapid changes in air pressure that causes tidal activity.

So picture this; in the first instance, a rapid decrease in the water level in the port causes it to become empty in a few minutes. This generates serious problems, mainly for vessels that are in port when they hit the bottom. You get my drift. After a few minutes, the water suddenly returns to the port and this creates the next set of problems. I don’t think I need to explain that to you. It has been known to pick a yacht up and deposit it into the dining room of the closest restaurant.  In the most common Rissaga’s, sea level oscillations are 60 to 100 cm, which is a fair bit of water moving in a marina.  But movements of up to 4 meters have been reached, as it did in 2006. Chaos. Im happy to report that the air pressure behaved itself during our visit… And now, thanks to me, you know what a Rissaga is.  A great useless fact for you to use over your next Gin and Tonic.  You’re welcome.

Okay, I can see that thought bubble sticking out the side of your head from here. They’ve been over there for months and are still stuck in the time-warp of Spain? You are undeniably correct. Yes I had plans at the onset of this trip to be cruising Corsica, Sardinia, Sicily and the Tuscan Coast by now. However we like Spain, and we are really enjoying the slower pace of exploring this part of the world properly. On our last big trip when we sailed our Swan 54 from Finland to New Zealand, everything was such a rush and we missed a lot; places we would stayed in for weeks so we could get to know the culture and really experience an area. So we are treating Coco II as floating apartment; parking in a spot for days, living onboard and exploring. It’s quite delightful! 

That’s all for now, an update of our Med adventure on our new Swan 58, Coco.  Yes it’s taken me a while to put fingers to keyboard – I just didn’t feel like writing, and it’s taken me a while to craft this edition of drivel.  Our plans from here? Who knows.  We might head back down to Palma for a bit (we haven’t seen the east coast of Mallorca yet), or maybe across to Corsica.  Or maybe the Canary Islands for the Northern Hemisphere winter.  We will see how we feel and which way the wind blows.

For those of you whom are more interested in the yacht inside and out, I’ll make an attempt to film some clips over the next few weeks (once I manage to kick our uninvited crew member Captain Covid off the boat) and give you a good look around. I’ll post them on our Gram @sailingyachtcoco

Adios amigos.