Port Porquerolles

So this is a sleepy old town that most everyone forgot, until about 50 years ago, when it became a well-known destination for the day crowds from Toulon, and the marking point for the west end of Cote d'Azur.

We were greeted at the entrance by a boat officially named Eleni, but which I nicknamed "Sir Humphrey's Boat," or "Sir Humphrey" for short. It's the kind of boat that makes the cover of sailing magazines. It was manned by 12 people in matching outfits, with what I can only imagine are posh British accents, and it really looked gorgeous overall. As an aside, note that this luxury item is registered in the British Isles to avoid having to pay taxes. It takes a lot of cognitive dissonance for Europeans to criticize other nations for corruption while they themselves tolerate the same kind of behavior in their back yard and actually institutionalize it. I guess it's no longer corrupt if there's a legal cover for it.

Sir Humphrey ripping it up at 12 knots past more modern but slower boats

Porquerolles doesn't have much except nice beaches and a castle. The castle has a funny story attached to it. Apparently, the British were being ousted by the French Republicans from Toulon, but no one cared enough about Porquerolles to let the castle commander know that there was a war going on. So when the British ships anchored off his fair island, and invited him for an afternoon tea on their battle ship, he abandoned his castle and went over, presumably in his best outfit, only to have his castle raided and to have himself imprisoned.

Anchoring spot. Note ice cream man in his zodiac.

Went over to one of the bays on the island for an afternoon swim. Note the azure color of the sea, in contrast with the darker color in Costa Brava in Spain, and the gray of Gulf of Lyon. Guizmo's outboard engine, known as Stella for having lots of trouble getting her groove back, was having trouble, so I went between a bunch of anchored boats under sail, did a u-ey, and then threw the anchor overboard. This needs to be a violent operation, as Guizmo has no windlass or a channel for the anchore rode, and the chain will make nasty marks on the boat if it touches the sides. So I essentially have to throw the anchor the same way large Bulgarian ladies with more facial hair than I can ever grow used to throw the shotput at the Olympics. I actually thought about doing the hammer throw, but I lack the necessary coordination and would end up hitting my own boat, or worse, someone else's.

My puny shotput throw with the not-so-aerodynamic anchor invariably makes everyone in the vicinity stop and look, mostly in fear. It was no different this time, especially because I wasn't sure the anchor would hold, so I had the jib up as well. So, imagine that you're part of a nice French family, at anchor in your civilized boat with your family and kids. Now imagine a fast moving green minitransat: it has an unused engine out of the water; it's eerily quiet as the engine is inexplicably not being used, but the boat is barreling downwind. Then it does a 180 degree turn within 10 feet of your lunch table and a guy runs from the back to the front with an anchor and chain in his hand. Before you can guess what could be happening, he hurls the anchor as far as possible over the bow and tosses a chunk of chain after it as if it's diseased. This is not your grandfather's anchoring operation. The mini is still going under jib. It suddenly hits the end of the anchor rope limit and sets the anchor into the sand. The guy then runs back and drops the jib. Then he sits back to get his pulse under control, as he has no idea what he would really have done if the anchor had failed to set. It's actually a pretty amazing maneuver and everything kind of makes sense, but I bet the folks around where Guizmo anchored did not recognize its brilliance.

At this point, it's time for a well-earned swim. Keep in mind that all minitransats are designed to go, go, go. They have no windlass, no channel for the anchor chain, no bathroom, no beds, and even, no cleats with which to tie to the shore. Needless to say, minis do not have a ladder either. Here's how one gets back on the boat following a fun swim.

My rope ladder. Not the big coil on the lifeline, but the little rope that goes from the winch into the ocean.
You get your feet into those loops I made and pull yourself up into the boat.

Today's climb back up was particularly interesting, since, in my efforts to make Stella get her groove back, I had canted the boat to the side by shifting the keel to the left. So the right side of the boat with the rope ladder was a lot higher than it normally is. I realized this only after jumping into the water. Luckily, it was possible to get back in regardless.

It was clear, at the end of the anchoring and swimming operations, that if the families around Guizmo were not entertained by what just took place, a mini sailor could always provide extra entertainment by pooping in a bucket and hurling it overboard. (Yes, there is no toilet on board. No, I have not yet pooped in a bucket. Yes, the keelbox can be used and has been used for #1, as it is essentially open to the ocean and you can see all the way to the bottom from the inside middle of the boat. But no, going #2 in the keelbox is not an option on any self-respecting mini sailor's boat. One alternative would be to stick one's backside out the side of the boat, essentially mooning the world, but that is not really safe or aesthetic, so I'm told that minisailors on the transatlantic race use a bucket, partially filled with water, to do their deed. I did inherit a bucket with Guizmo, and I refuse to think about how it may have been used in the past. But pooping in a bucket is definitely part of the mini culture. Walrus bucket saga comes to mind every time I see "mah blue bukkit").