Raised flags and raised spirits as we enter Spain

Raised Flags and Raised Spirits alongside Spanish Surprises

Leaving Banyuls‑sur‑Mer behind, I snapped my final photos of the snow‑capped Pyrenees — a view I never get tired of. (and have so many photos of despite them all being too far away for my iphone zoom!)

The day began as pure champagne sailing: calm sea state, wind in exactly the right place, and just the Genoa out as we glided along. It was peaceful, almost lazy, and all around us tuna were leaping out of the water as if to say hello. They seemed to be enjoying the morning as much as we were.

But I’m learning that how a sailing day starts is rarely how it ends.

By the afternoon the wind had picked up, the waves had grown, and Novera was heeled over again, bouncing her way through the chop at some speed!

“Should we check the leak?” Tim asked. We’d remembered to turn both toilet valves off, so with my heart in my mouth I headed below, fingers crossed. No water. 🙌 Two very happy sailors.

Buoyed by our success, I enthusiastically grabbed the radio to announce our arrival at the next marina. And that’s when reality hit: after seven weeks of French, my brain was suddenly confronted with rapid‑fire Spanish… and understood absolutely none of it.

I asked for a repeat. Still nothing. All I caught was “please anchor in the bay” and something that sounded suspiciously like “quarantine.”

Now, the last time we anchored it was a sleepless night, and we hadn’t used the anchor since. But the bay was empty, so we found a spot and I went forward to lower the anchor. Pedal pressed....Nothing.

“Have you pressed it?” Tim asked.
“Yes!”
“Is it on?”
“Yes!”
Oh brilliant. We’d just celebrated fixing the leak… and now the anchor decided to join the drama.

We tried the cockpit lever — that worked — so at least we could get the anchor down. But why wasn’t the pedal working? A few texts with Thomas later, Tim was in the locker with tools, and within minutes he’d found a broken wire and fixed it. Pedal restored. Crisis averted.

Smiles all round.

And honestly, the bay was lovely — calm, pretty, and not rolly at all. More boats arrived over the next hour, so who knows why the marina was closed, but it turned into a gorgeous, unexpected evening. With our favourite tunes playing softly and the sun setting, Tim sent the drone up and captured some fantastic shots of Novera and the bay.

Everything was working — at least everything we knew about — and we finally relaxed. Living on a boat is not like living in a house, everything is constantly moving and far more things can break. Luckily Tim is incredibly handy, and Thomas continues to be a superstar.

So with a few cold glasses of lovely wine, we chilled, threw some sausages on our new grill (even a boat needs a BBQ equivalent) talked absolute rubbish with great passion, and slept like logs.

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