No more named winds

The mistral, one of Europe's nasty named winds, comes from the
N to NW and is dry, cold and blows like stink. According to
the French, whose wind it is, it always lasts three, six or nine
days. We got back to Horizons on 28 February after a day and
a half in transit, loaded two carloads of groceries and our bags
onto her, and then the mistral blew at around 50mph for the full
nine days.

That left one of us on the boat at all times, to be sure no line
wore through or the boat didn't smash into the pipes jutting
out from the concrete dock, and the other to run around doing
all the tasks that living on a boat entails. Since Jack had
been to the podiatrist the day before we left Virginia to have
an ingrown toenail removed, he perhaps was happy to have a chance
to finally soak his foot, though he might have been just as happy
to have a decent toe.

Fortunately, Horizons was in great shape. Antoine Hutter of
Nautiplus, whom we had engaged to look after her and effect some
repairs and replacements, had done a brilliant job. Cruisers,
if you find yourself in southern France and need help, email
us for his number. His English is great and he seems to know
everyone in Toulon. He delivers on his prices.

After the mistral ended it became early perfect spring in southern
France with the almond and cherry trees blooming, sunshine and
soft breezes. We, however, took the high speed train for a long
weekend in Paris, three hundred miles to the north. There were
three museums we particularly wanted to see and this might be
our last trip to Paris.

The new big thing (for us) was the Musee d'Orsay, which contains
a humongous quantity of great Impressionist art, along with room
after room of works from earlier periods that Impressionism either
developed from or grew out of reaction to. The Picasso Museum,
which we had visited when it had just opened twenty years ago,
was a disappointment. Where were those wonderful pen and ink
drawing of the bullring, which seemed realer than the bullfight
we had just attended? The cubist paintings of his mistresses?
The pottery from Vallauris? We asked, and the conscientious
staff answered. Those were from a temporary exhibit we had been
just lucky enough to see. The last day was fine enough for a
hop-on hop-off bus tour of Paris, a wonderful last visit, but
no hopping on Jack's part.

Back in Toulon, spring was well on the way when we returned and
we busied ourselves with final provisioning as Dockwise was due
the next week. Provisioning for this voyage was very easy. 
Fill every nook and cranny with wine, pate and amazing French
sauces and canned good. We got tired of backpacking before Horizons
was full, but we managed about eight cases of wine before we
gave out.

We left Toulon a day late, on the 25th of March. A mistral blew
in on the day we were to load, gusting to 60mph. So we didn't.
We expected to be in harbor at least two more days, but magically,
the next day was still. Apparently a tramontane (NE wind from
the alps and Savoy) was blowing at equal force to the mistral
and they canceled each other out over Toulon. Dockwise loaded
seven boats in two hours and we left that night.

Naturally, the weather resumed during the night and we woke up
several times to spray coming over the 20 foot high wall of the
Super Transport III and landing hard as rain on the deck. It
was lumpy, but we were not at the helm, so it wasn't our problem.
We were just cargo. We woke at nine to wild seas, a brilliant
day and winds calming. That day, we were given a spare cabin
for the duration, an unexpected surprise.

After three days, we settled into a routine. Breakfast at 7:30.
Work at least three hours. (We are scraping and painting the
the bottom of the boat and cleaning and painting the chain and
a few other chores.) Knock off for lunch, work a bit, clean
ourselves up, rest and get ready for dinner.

A big challenge has been trying to consume fewer calories than
we are served. The crew is all Ukranian and they work very hard.
The very good Ukranian food is served to us on plates in sufficient
quantity to propel a six foot muscular Ukranian to work for a
hard 8 hour day. We are none of those things. If we eat that
much food we will still not be six feet tall. At least the wine
is all on Horizons and climbing up and down six gangways and
ladder to get to it limits us to sundowners on Horizons before
it gets dark.

Good news: There is no news. Although there is limited email
capability there is no internet. Anyway, our computer failed
two days into the trip. (Think about how much we would have
liked that if we had been making the passage ourselves—no sailmail.)
So we are able to cruise along in a complete absence of news
and responsibility. We will go through Gibralter today at noon
(we hope to see both sides, but it is very cloudy) and then we
will arrive 10 days later in St. Thomas. In our nine years at
sea we have never had so few worries or responsibilities.

************
Our trip through the Straits of Gibralter was quite spectacular.
The weather cleared just for the ride through. We could clearly
see Africa and Europe. The Rock of Gibralter looks just like
its TV ads. The captain came out on the bridge deck to warn
us the night might be rough, but we assured him that we were
happy to have him at the helm.

This turned out to be very true. We have never completely slept
through a storm before. When we got up at 0630 , after breakfast
it was still lumpy and horrible so we went back to bed. Horizons
was secure, not moving relative to SuperTransportIII, and the
same could definitely not be said for Laurie's stomach. When
we awoke at noon, we felt much better and the weather was improving.

After that, the weather settled dramatically. We motored through
the Azores high—we could never have sailed it—so we had calm
seas and no wind. We were only six miles off the rhumbline between
Gibralter and St. Thomas.

We have started reading all the new cruising guides to the Caribbean
we brought with us. The people and ads are little changed although
we can tell there has been much more development than five years
ago. How will it be now?

Six hundred miles from St. Thomas we are dead on the rhumbline,
motoring smoothly at 12 ½ knots. 

The Med has been fabulous. We never wanted to miss it. The
people, history, art and shore-based landscapes have all been
rich and rewarding.

The sailing sucks. The triremes of 3000BC were all really powerboats,
but the power was slaves.

The Caribbean is beautiful. The water is perfectly clear and
warm. The winds mean lovely sails of three hours to three days
on a mostly beam reach. There are no mistrals, meltemis, tramontanes
or boras. The fist are wild abundant and good-tasting.

Either way, its not a bad life.


**********

Our landing at Sty. Thomas was pefectly undramatic. The pilot
arrived on board, took us into the new cruise ship dock at Crown
Bay, the ground crew had us tied up within an hour. Fifteen
minutes later immigration arrived and we were cleared.

We walked over to find out if Crown Bay marina had gotten our
email requesting a berth for a week and smack dab into the hugs
of our friends, Sheeran Ann and Jim, who had seen Dockwise com
in and took a chance they'd find us near the bar.

The unloading the next morning was also undramatic but COULD
have been spectacular. It seems the ballast hydraulics weren't
functioning properly. Oh, they could have sunk the ship okay
to let us off, but getting her up again would have been a different
story. The five boats within and the seven boats without waited
with varying degrees of patience till the matter was resolved.

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