👉From Fire to Festivals to Frazzled Nerves

Highs and lows of the week were all emotions this week as we saw somewhere we love on fire, enjoyed an unexpected festival and had the scariest experience in a marina yet!

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7/12/20263 min read

When Joe announced he wanted to fly out and join us, we were absolutely delighted. Even better, his timing meant he’d be here to celebrate both of our birthdays. Suddenly we had a mission: get Novera safely to Marseille in time to collect him.

Our route took us past familiar favourites, including beautiful Sainte-Maries-de-la-Mer. Last time we’d explored the harbour and spotted the famous wild white horses; this time we dropped anchor out in the bay. We’d already spent longer in La Grande-Motte than planned, waiting for strong winds to calm down. Even so, the forecast still promised a lively sail… and it certainly delivered. Gusts hit 30 knots, but Novera handled it like the champion she is, and with Tim at the helm we made excellent progress.

And of course, it wouldn’t be one of our passages without a little drama.

All that bouncing worked a pin loose on the genoa. One moment everything was fine, the next the reefed sail burst open at speed, leaving us suddenly overpowered and both of us with hearts racing. We wrestled it back under control, took a breath, and carefully reefed it again, hoping nothing had been damaged.

Thankfully… success. Everything held perfectly, though it did earn a new spot on our growing mental list of “things to check.”

Anchoring in 25 knots was interesting enough, but what greeted us ashore was something else entirely. Ash drifted through the air and the sky glowed an eerie orange. The countryside around us was on fire.

It was heartbreaking.

Nature has an extraordinary way of showing both its beauty and its power. The sea shimmered with the golden sparkles I love so much, only this time they reflected a smoke-filled sky — breathtaking and devastating all at once. Thankfully, the incredible firefighters brought the blaze under control, and before long the blue skies returned.

Our final stop before Marseille was Port-de-Bouc, which we’d imagined would be a quiet overnight stay.

How wrong we were.

The town was in full swing with its eight-week Sardine Festival. Long tables lined the waterfront, food stalls sold everything from moules-frites to pizza (and of course, sardines), and every evening a DJ had the crowds dancing together. Young and old moved in perfect sync, laughing, singing, and clearly knowing every step. It was impossible not to smile. I desperately wanted to join in.

We grabbed a bottle of wine and a portion of frites, found ourselves a front-row seat, and enjoyed one of my favourite pastimes: people watching.

The next morning we moved berths and got chatting to the couple beside us. She was Canadian, which made conversation much easier than our very slow, very simple French.

Then she said something that completely made our day.

“I crossed the Atlantic on an Amel the first time I did it,” she said. “The only blue-water yacht.”

Tim and I both beamed. It genuinely felt like when someone has just complimented your child. If ever we needed reassurance that we’d chosen the right boat for the adventures we dream about, this was it. That brief conversation left us inspired, excited, and quietly wondering… maybe it’s time to think even bigger.

Then came Marseille.

A beautiful city — but without doubt our most stressful arrival so far.

As we approached the harbour entrance, the wind suddenly strengthened.

“This is going to be a tough one,” Tim said quietly.

“You’ll be brilliant, as always,” I replied, with far more confidence than I actually felt.

The bay was chaos. Ferries, impatient day boats, gusting crosswinds and very little room for error. Every gust seemed determined to shove us somewhere we didn’t want to go.

Then we spotted our berth.

“No way… that’s tiny!” I shouted.

On a calm day it would have been snug. In these conditions it looked impossible.

We lined up perfectly. Headsets on. Calm voices. Everything going to plan…

…until the next gust arrived.

Suddenly I was sprinting from one side of the boat to the other. First fending off one neighbour, then pushing away from the other. Throw the stern line! No, grab the bow line! Kick the fender down! Push us off!

Somehow, between us, we got Novera safely tied up.

I was glowing a deeper shade of pink than Violet Beauregarde from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

After sharing one of those hugs that says, “I can’t believe we actually pulled that off,” Tim decided there was only one suitable treatment.

He picked up the hose… and drenched me.

Fully clothed.

To be fair, I was so hot I didn’t even protest.

Unfortunately, moments later our new neighbour appeared on the pontoon, and forgetting that I looked as though I’d just climbed out of the harbour, I cheerfully smiled and said, “Bonjour!” as though absolutely nothing unusual was happening.

And with that, we had finally made it.

Marseille at last.

Tomorrow is my birthday, Joe arrives, and something tells me the adventures are only just beginning.

If you want to chat or comment why not send me an email hayley@sailingnovera.com