We took the boat out today [16/06/2006] Woke to beautiful blue sky and sunshine today. The sprinklers were on in the gardens downstairs in the grounds of our building where we now live. We moved here a couple of months ago, weary of the dampness of the countryside and the mice taking refuge in our beds, as they were so cold and the little presents they were leaving behind. The flat we now inhabit is warm, light, spacious and close to civilisation. Hooray. Fifteen minutes to the beach and the same into Ibiza town. On one side of us is the world famous Pacha and on the other the trendiest bar on the island - Grial. Not that we get to either as Ella refuses to have a babysitter! Jules is forever gazing at the posters advertising what's on in the various clubs and dreaming of 'one day'. We dropped Ella off at the school and headed off for Santa Eulalia where the Seadoo is moored. The sea was like a Mill pond. The calmest it's been all season. Fortified with egg and bacon from our favourite restaurant on the sea front, we ventured out. Heading north of the island we passed all the beaches that we have got to know during our year here. They look different again now, as the parasols and sunbeds are back and the restaurants open once more after the long winter of hibernation. Spotty the dog dug her claws into the boat bottom as we hit some choppier waters. The wind was coming in from the north today. We passed close to the craggy cliffs surrounding the island. A geologist's delight. The strata layers of rock no doubt tell a fascinating story. For me I was content to use my birthday camera and attempt to get some good shots of the land from the sea. The birds on the rocks, the white houses clinging perilously to the side of the cliffs, the fishing boats rocking around on the choppier water and of the sea itself. Crystal clear as ever, but today more an aubergine colour than the usual turquoise blue. We pulled in to Cala Mastella on the way home. One of our favourite coves. Home to El Bigot - the moustached one. For years now his family have been famous for their fish stew, cooked on an open charcoal fire. In the morning they go out and catch the fish in their old fishing boat and they bring back the catch for the stew. If you want to eat at the hut, you climb over the rocks from the beach of Cala Mastella and put your name down for a table, and you are told to come back at 2pm. On your return, El Bigote is at the fire cooking and his old dad sits near him, smoking a pipe and spitting from time to time. This is not for the weak stomached! First the fish soup is served. Then comes the fish and rice. There's plentiful wine, bread and water as ever on Ibiza and the desert is an ice cream. A simple hearty meal, served for about twenty guests, all savouring not just the fresh catch of the day but also lapping up the view of the fishing huts, the sheltered harbour with the occasional fishing boat venturing past and as ever the beautiful sea. It is very Gerald Durrell - 'My Family and Other Animals'. You can not help but think of other places in the Mediterranean that also used to be like Cala Mastella, but many years ago. The current was a little strong in the cove and seemed to be pulling us too close to the cliffs, so we pulled out and set off again for Santa Eulalia. Deciding on a revisit to an old friend of a restaurant situated in the north of the island for lunch the journey took us back past Villa Solimar where we spent the winter. It looked glorious in the sunshine and we understood why we were lured in to thinking it would be the perfect place to live. The fincas here on the island were built for the summer. Cool and white with thick walls. In the winter the peasant Ibicencos would huddle together as a family around the fireplace and even sleep there. Of course, no one told us that before we committed to paying the extortionate rent at Villa Solimar. The journey to the north is a beautiful one. We past the orange groves where they se vende naranjas for six months of the year and then the cerrado sign goes up when they finally run out. June is a glorious month on the island. There are brightly coloured flowers everywhere. We climbed up on to the Portinatz road and could see the sea way down below us and a solitary sailing boat. A car with a trailer behind it whizzed past us just before a hair bend. Car accidents are plentiful on the island. Often it is lone drivers going too fast and they simply drive off the road. Just before Portinatz we pulled over to the small carpark fronting the restaurant and parked up next to the car with the trailer! Can Lluci used to be a mini golf centre and now serves some of the best food on the island. The menu del dia is mind blowing. Peasant bread, olives that tasted of eucylyptus oil, ali oli (mayonnaise with garlic), rosado wine and water whilst you wait for the first course. We shared the ice cold gazpacho soup and the ensalada mixta. For secundos we had a paella mixta. It came in a big frying pan with two handles and the yellow saffron coloured rice was mixed in with crab, octopus, prawns and chicken and other bits and pieces I did not recognise but tasted delicious! Spotty the dog enjoyed the spoils with us. We shared a creme catalan and polished off a couple of cafe con leches and twenty euros lighter (about £14) we moved slowly down to the beach for a few minutes before leaving to picking Ella up. Another beautiful day in paradise. Pervert in the park [19/06/2006] Ella took the dog out to the park downstairs yesterday morning for a run around and a quick wee. I peered over the balcony and saw she looked quite agitated, so I told her to come up quickly. Apparently Spotty the dog was sniffing in the hedge and so Ella looked in to see what she was after only to see a face in the hedge. There was a drunk fast asleep pressed into the hedge. I told Ella that you get drunks everywhere. We decided to take the dog for a walk on the beach. On our return a couple of hours later, the same man was now lying near the entrance to the park under a tree, completely stark naked with his hand resting on his bits! I hurried Ella inside and rang the Police. I managed to say in Spanish there was a man in the park, near the children's playground, without any clothes on. We waited impatiently for twenty five minutes, hoping the man would not up sticks, get dressed and walk away before the police came. They arrived finally but by this time he had his jockeys on. They waited for him to get dressed and then they walked to the police car. We hoped he would be pushed in and taken down the station. However, he walked off and the police car drove off. The man walked down the path towards our building and found his trousers, which for some reason he had left hanging in a bush away from the rest of his clothes. I peered over the balcony gingerly and watched to see that he vacated the area. In need of a change of scenery, we set off for Pikes. A blissful retreat, set in the hills above San Antonio, where the rich and the famous go. Also those in search of a good burger to share and a swim in a lovely pool. We settled ourselves down in the table area, set almost in the swimming pool. You can dangle your feet in whilst having your fruit cocktail. Ella decided she wants to go back on her birthday and says it is the best place she has ever been. Returned to let the dog out in the park, but went down on my own this time. We got locked out [20/06/2006] Decided on an ice-cream at the heladeria on the corner yesterday evening. Grabbed the dog lead, hand-bag and ushered ella, who was chatting non-stop, out the flat. Immediately the door slammed I realised I had left both keys in the flat and would not be able to get back in! It had to happen some time. We raced to the agent, who we rented the flat through. Fortunately they were still open. He rang the owner and arranged that she would meet us at the door at 8.30 p.m. So we had an ice-cream, played in the park and duly waited by the door at agreed time. Nothing. We amused ourselves for twenty minutes but then I started to panic a bit. I didn't have the landlord's number. The agent was now shut. May be we'd have to spend the night in Talamanca hostel? I discussed with a spanish guy whether it was possible to get a ladder and climb in. He didn't know of a ladder anywhere. Oh dear! 9 pm and I saw a lady running up the path. Thank you God, it was the landlady. Won't do that again in a hurry! Watched the footie last night [21/06/2006] In order to watch the match here you need Sky. That's a bit of a problem as to get Sky you need a 1.8 metre dish. If we got a dish that big it would block out all the sunlight from the balcony! So we decided to watch the match at Cafe Sydney, on the harbour front, on their big plasma screen. I booked a table for 8.30 p.m. nice and close to the screen. After a pleasant stroll along the harbour we duly pitched up complete with english flag, printed via the internet and nattily attached to a stick! There was a pleasant gang of fellow country people at the tables around us. Including a nice couple with boy and girl twins of 4 years old. Cafe Sydney makes great pizzas and infamous salads - not for the faint. Ella and I tucked into both of these and Spotty lapped up her water, provided by the attentive waitress. The players came out and we all cheered and waved the flag. Then the anthem and the blokes on the table behind us all stood up and sang along with their arms stretched across their chests. I took a photo for Jules who's in the UK at the moment. In case he didn't believe me. I thoroughly enjoyed the match. Ella was absconded by the twins halfway through to do some colouring on their table. Their chatty father came over and was telling me about his wife's caesarian just as England scored the first goal. The Brits all roared with delight, and we waved the flag. At 10.45 p.m. we walked along the beautiful harbour's edge and looked across at Ibiza town all lit up, and wandered sleepily back to the flat. Looking forward to the next match. I think I'll book the same table again. The local shop [24/06/2006] Round the corner from our flat is a conveniently placed little supermercado selling freshly made croissants and bread as well as anything else you might run out of on a sunday. I had been making an effort in there with the cantankerous old ibicenco who guarded the place. I was however wary of him as he did sell me a Friday spanish newspaper on a Saturday. "Buenos dias, tres croissantes por favor", I said. Tres? He asked. Si Tres. I said. Tres, he asked and held up 3 fingers. Si tres I responded patiently. It's a little game some of the old ibicencos play. They don't like spanish, it reminds them too much of Franco who banned catalan their preferred language, throughout his dictatorship. They'd rather speak english, if they know any. I gathered a few bits and pieces together from the shop and went to the counter. The shop keeper was fawning to a police woman. So I waited. A hippy type came in, with blood shot eyes and filthy bare feet. The owner looked disgustedly at his bare feet as he walked up the aisle. The bill seemed remarkably high, so I thought I'd better check the receipt just in case the owner was pulling a fast one. Couldn't remember the exact word for receipt, began with an 'r'! La recetta por favor? I ventured. The blood shot man was standing next to me by this time. "Tic - KET, en espanol", he said, as if talking to the village idiot. I bit my tongue. "Tic - KET" the shop keeper joined in. Red rag to a bull time. "Ticket is an english word and not spanish, I'll find out what the spanish word is and use it next time. By the way the shop keeper doesn't like the look of your dirty feet". With that I walked out, and haven't been back. There's a lovely little supermarket, very friendly a little bit further away, they seem to understand my spanish and appear surprisingly good value. Monica, my spanish teacher, tells me the word for receipt is "el recibo". Ticket is like the english word, more for football matches and such like. Ha! Jellyfish in Formertera [03/07/2006] Yesterday was a beautiful day. The sky was blue and cloudless and the sea without a ripple in sight. A perfect day for another boat trip in fact. We decided it was 'd' day and we were finally going to FORMENTERA. Formentera is an amazing island about 3 miles away from ibiza town. The italians have voted it their most favourite island in the world. If you were taken there blindfolded and then told to take your blindfold off, you would probably swear you were on a caribbean island. The sea is turquoise blue and so clear you can look down about 30 foot and see the bottom. The sand is white with flecks of pink coral scattered along the shoreline. We set off at about 9.30 a.m and gathered a few essentials for lunch, such as baguette and ham, from the new favourite supermarket with the nice owners. The boat is now a stone's throw away in Ibiza Nueva. We motored it down from Santa Eulalia a week ago and consider it one of our better decisions. The sea is calmer around here and our favourite coves are at spitting distant. Since moving our petrol and oil costs have decreased dramatically. Spotty the dog is quite accustomed to boat life now and no longer digs her claws into the boat bottom. She likes to sit on the seat next to Ella and feels the wind in her fur. We leave the harbour with Ella on plastic bag alert at the helm. Plastic bags are lethal to a jet boat, as we discovered on the sea trial when the boat broker sucked a bag up and then pulled it out and ruined the engine. It was a perfect day. The summer heat has really set in now. The sea gulls hovered a few metres above the boat. We played around with other boats' wake diving in and out of it in the Sea- doo. It was nice to see other vessels on the sea after experiencing Santa Eulalia for a month where there was very little maritime activity. We pulled up close to the white beach of Formentera and dropped anchor. Stetched out on a few sun loungers were naked brown bodies. We all jumped into the crystal clear water including Spotty the dog. Jules grabbed the goggles and went in search of fish. He came back with stories of giant parrot looking fish with beaks like mouths and other fish that looked like silver dollar notes. Ella naturally wanted a turn. I stayed with her whilst she hunted around. She came up excitedly a couple of times shouting that she'd seen some fish. Then she put her head up and screamed. A fish had bitten her she yelled. I carried her to the shore, still screaming. It transpired a jellyfish had stung her. I didn't see any other jellyfish the whole day, so she was very unlucky. Her arm felt like it was on fire and started to swell badly. I went off in search of the lifeguarders for some first aid kit and came back with some ammonia solution that we bandaged against the swelling. It did eventually start to go down. So we carried Ella back to the boat and set off for the harbour of Formentera. Formentera harbour is like noddy's harbour would be. Very cute and you half expect to see Big Ears cycling along next to the cycle shops and ice cream parlours. We moored up and told the harbour master where the boat was and went in search of an ice cream. On our return an hour later the Formentera swimming club were in the water next to the boat. They'd been swimming for hours in the water along the coast accompanied by a police escort in a rubber dinghy. Many of the club were disabled or Downs Syndrome. It was quite an amazing sight. Once the water was clear we set off for home. Another eventful day. We couldn't believe we'd finally taken the boat to Formentera. It could become an addiction. A cow in Ibiza? [19/07/2006] Took the dog out early this morning for a walk. The sprinklers were on in the park below us so I headed off on the path to Jesus. This is actually pronounced Chaysoos, with the ch as in loch at the beginning, although we prefer to pronounce it as in biblical figure as it's such a great name. "Just going for a walk to Jesus". Childhood memories of the Old Baptist church and chapel three times on Sunday, (four on communion nights) and "fellowship" afterwards, come flooding back. The path to Jesus is a very pretty one. After a few yards of tarmac the road becomes a dirt track surrounded by open dusty fields and hierbas (a ibizan herb from which they make a fantastic drink) growing on the kerbside. The dog scampered along in and out of the hierbas and sniffing everything along the way. There have recently been accounts of sewerage leaks in the Puerta Nueva (new port) in ibiza harbour. The sewerage runs out in to the storm drains in various locations in our neighbourhood. It transpires that the path to Jesus has one of them. The smell was not for the faint hearted, on an empty stomach and in the already hot ibizan sun. I decided to try for a circulatory route home and headed off to the right down a path behind a row of ochre coloured fincas. It looked promising and I hoped it would wind round and join the main road to Talamanca and back to home. A few yards further on I scrutinised the horizon. Surely that wasn't a cow in the distance under a tree? I have never seen a cow in ibiza. The climate I suppose is not suited to them. Much better for sheep and goats. Apparently they used to bring bulls over for bull fighting on the ferry from Barcelona, but had to stop as the bulls got incredibly sea sick! Suddenly the animal leapt up and started to bark fiercely and I realised it was a huge rotweiller type dog. Fortunately for me and Spotty it was on a chain, but this looked too flimsy for my comfort. I scooped Spotty up and gingerly creapt along the path the other side to the dog as it pranced around barking and yanking the chain. My heart started to race and then I realised the path had ended. There was a little house behind me now, but it was all shuttered up, as it was still only 9 oclock, far too early for the locals to rise, who are far more night owls than larks. In front of the house was a dusty field with scattered bales of straw, and I decided to cross here rather than risk my luck with the rotweiller a second time. I kept a watchful eye, still worried that the dog would suddenly break free and come hurtling after the two trespassers. At the end of the field I discovered a broken down wall, below which was another tiny path. It seemed in the right direction so I took my chance and followed it along and fortunately came out very close to Pacha night club on the Talamanca road. I arrived home hot and sticky and relieved. I usually hate the way the locals tie their dogs up on relatively short chains. However today I was very grateful. The singing dog [19/07/2006] Another glorious day of blue sky and sunshine, so we headed downstairs to the communal pool for a swim and then on for a spot of breakfast at the Heladeria on the corner of Brisol (where we live). We love it there. Nothing nicer than cafe con leche and tostada con tomate whilst gazing at the beautiful walled old town of Ibiza in the distance. The only downside at the moment is the dust from the huge five star hotel they are building a stone's throw away on the Paseo Maritimo. This apparently is due to be finished by next spring. It's currently looking like "the house Jack built", with very wonky looking brick work. Just as well everything gets pasted in white plaster as this one is definitely going to need a paint job. Fortified we set off for the farmacia as Ella's arm still looks nasty even though the medussa (jellyfish) stung her nearly three weeks ago now. The pharmacist looked a little shocked that it was still a bit puscular and sore looking and enquired if we had been to the doctor's. No we hadn't and now parent guilt started to creep in. We tried to compensate by spending lots of money on another special cream and a new bandage and even suntan lotion with anti medussa powers and a magic alcohol solution should the unmentionables ever sting one of us again, (not that Ella has been in the sea since). We popped in on Dan at the letting agents next door to let him know the secadora (tumble drier) has packed up. Of course we don't need it at the moment in 38 degree heat, but the landlady's words are ringing in our ears that after three months the responsibility falls to us, and three months have just flown by. Dan was however on the phone with a queue awaiting his services. So we walked next door again to the nice supermarket with the friendly owners. Spotty the dog had to stay outside as they have a little dog called Pippy who guards the premises. I usually find her a bit annoying barking as we try to enter the shop and overdoing her duties. However today she did look particularly sweet and as senora made our baguettes I commented on how sweet she looked to senor and asked if she bites. The answer being an absolute "no" I proceeded to pat her. The proud owner then called to Pippy to fetch her little cow. The dog dragged a half mauled soft cow toy from under a low shelf and carried it around as senor praised her. He then told her to put her cow down and he scooped her up and shouted "Canta Pippy, canta". Senora also shouted from the delie area "Canta Pippy". i.e. "Sing Pippy, Sing". To which Pippy cocked her head back and started to howl. Delightedly Mr and Mrs continued to shout encouragement. I could not believe my eyes and nearly cried with laughter. At which point Ella came in the shop. I told her about the dogs performance and the owners on queue commanded Pippy to restart the show. It had to be said she wasn't quite so good the second time but she still made my day. Still laughing we headed off to the boat. Jules opened up the back and gazed in horror - it was full of water. He tried to start the bilge pump but no joy. We had intended to take the boat off the water tomorrow for a few repairs but in view of the water we brought that forward and headed off to the Port office. The office in Puerta Nueva is run by a fat dickensian looking ibicenco. The name Shylock would suit him admirably as he likes nothing better than to fleece the pleasure seeking boat owners. Today was our turn. Of course they couldn't find any record of when we arrived or our paperwork, so everything had to be entered once again on the computer. I explained that we had brought in all the paperwork, and had in fact been made to pay a tax, which we later discovered was a lighthouse tax! One sucker born every minute and it was tatooed on us that day. We should have heard alarm bells when it was cash only and no cards! After questions on the exact length and width of the boat and what flag it goes under and of course our passport number (ubiquitous), a price was finally worked out. We boat owners are a crazy lot. For the fleeting pleasure of a day or two on the water we flush away vast quantities of dinero. Our only comfort being ours is a tiny vessel compared to most of the others and so our bill was a fraction of their's. The life jackets had mostly all self-inflated in the storage area, which had also filled with water. Except one that was given us generously by the dodgy boat dealer who had sold us the Sea doo. That one was as flat as a pancake. Ironic as it was given to us to ensure the safety of our child as we didn't want her to venture on the water without one. We had long since replaced it with a smaller child's one, but it was nonetheless a trifle gauling. Brisol, where we live, does have a parking area underground where we have plenty of room to park the freelander and the car trailer. However there's no room for the boat trailer. That we had to leave next to the boat yard in Santa Eulalia. So that was the next port of call. We found it at the end. Recognizable by the english number plate that we bought it with nearly a year ago and still haven't changed to match the car's. We rehearsed the "story" in case the policia stopped us. I invented a few good ones, but we decided the truth might be the best one in the end i.e. we hadn't got round to changing it. We set off on the bumpy journey back to Puerta Nueva. Bumpy as the trailer's brake doesn't work and consequently it kept thumping the back of the car. In Puerta Nueva we found the crane, but it seemed impossible to access it by car. Jules quickly memorised a few key spanish words and set off equipped with the chitty from the puerta office that enables us to get the boat out via the crane. Naturally this was the wrong crane. There was apparently another crane for Puerta Nueva. We drove hither and thither asking a handful of different people where it was. Most didn't know, some hassarded a guess. I finally enquired of the young man at the entrance to Puerta Nueva. He got quite flustered and thought it was somewhere near Divino's nightclub. Fortunately as we left the area we saw the sign Varadero and discovered it a couple of hundred of metres to the right of the young man. It must be the heat. It was hot today. Getting the boat out of the water is always fun. Jules approached cautiously in the Seadoo and in to the docking area over the two giant bungee straps. He hopped up on to the side and then the boat was gently highered out of the water and plopped on to the trailer behind the car. Well, it would have been slightly less trouble if one of the two men hadn't been pissed as a newt, but it was still relatively pain free. Then en route to Bombardier - home for all good Sea doos. Strange how these pleasure filled days can be so tiring.