28th April 2021
Palmador, Formenteara, Spain – Casa Basa, Ibiza, Spain via Sa Caixota, Ibiza Spain & Jondal, Ibiza, Spain
On Ruffian we listen to an eclectic mix of music. We sometimes get sophisticated by listening to Handel, occasionally we’ll want something to liven us up and on goes the britpop, very occasionally (when Fiona allows it) Iain returns to his roots by turning up the volume, ramping up the base and pressing play on classic 90’s dance. Sailing in Ibiza we have not just listened to music, we’ve lived it; from grime to rock and roll, from blues to Ibiza chillout.
We bid the sand island of Formentera goodbye and headed for the plethora on anchorages that dot the southern coast of Ibiza and with such choice we tried anchorage after anchorage. They were either not pretty enough, not big enough or not safe enough and finally we stopped behind a big cliff, with the anchor in sand and nothing but the big villas up lit by the eerie blue of their infinity pools for company.
Feeling like we were not adhering to the standards that these infinity pool villas were expecting we cracked open the polish, the deck shampoo and the fender cleaner to start on a full day of cleaning. After hours of hard work the stainless shone, decks felt grippy underfoot and the fenders were so clean they should never touch a dock again. As Ruffian glowed in the setting sun we were about to get our first dose of music; grime.
The new day dawned and grime was everywhere. A dust storm had rolled in from Africa, replacing our once shiny white boat with a distinctly orange one. No surface was untouched, every crevice harboured filth, every rope oozed dirt, every window was orange tinted. All our hard work had been undone and all in the name of grime.
Moving anchorages in preparation for a big windshift we set about removing the signatures of the first wave of music and were about to get a dose of the second genre; rock and roll.
We thought we’d chosen well. We hid in a bay where the wind would have a real problem to getting to us, but the swell didn’t seem to have any of the same issues. It curved around the headland, rolled under Ruffian and then crashed on the beach. Ruffian rocked and rolled, the contents of cupboards clicked and clunked, carpentry creaked and groaned and while Fiona slept soundly Iain sat anxiously all night long listening to the crashing waves and fearing doom and disaster would engulf us at any moment. Rock and roll has no place on Ruffian.
Moving Ruffian to the north coast of Ibiza we also changed musical genres. Rock and roll was dead, long live the blues.
The rolly seas and orange skies had given way to the most spectacular weather and entering an empty bay we could see the sand shine at its head. All we had to do was be brave enough to get to it. Edging closer and closer to the sand we were engulfed in a world of blue. Above us the sky was blue, below us the water was blue, and with the reflections even Ruffian had turned blue. Although the blues are usually full of regret and sadness they filled us with joy and happiness.
All the reviews of the bay we’d found ourselves in talked of the tunes that pump from the shoreline late into the night, the jetskies that whizz about like wasps and the ferries who continually disgorged their sun seeking clientele into this world of blue. We had none of that. Everything was calm and peaceful and as we chilled out in Ibiza, Ibiza Chill Out wafted across the water. Finally, a music genre that matched our mood.
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