Pto Pollenca

Panoramic shot from Puerto de Pollenca. See if you can locate Guizmo for +25 points. +3 points for each kiteboarder with their kite up, +1 point for each kite on land, +1 point for each topless sunbather (visible or implied), -4 points for each erroneously identified top-ful sunbather. Not sure what you get in exchange for the points, but we'll think of something.

Pollenca Bay

Here's a panorama from the pier where I'm keeping my boat. You can also see Lucas's older minitransat right next to mine.

Pto Pollenca Nautical Club

Shots taken in May, I recently stitched up the pics.

Edit: Apparently, Blogger shrank my huge panoramas. Sorry if you can't see much.

The Retreat on Pto Pollenca

Pto Pollenca is a beautiful place.

Apparently, this was a retreat for Spanish intellectuals at the turn of the previous century. It's a giant complex built in neoclassical style, around a tower designed to defend the Bay of Pollenca from Dragut. There is even a lighthouse on premises. It was apparently sold to a businessman for 9M euro, who recently sold it for 32M. It's unused at the moment though, and is completely devoid of life. This is a huge pity, as the place has a lot of potential. I firmly believe that the government should be able to nationalize any property from people who're doing too lame a job with it. This applies to domain names for sure, land, cars, boats, and anything else, really. It's a new, more radical doctrine of eminent domain. For proper effect, someone like a TSA agent should come to your house and say "I'm sorry sir, you're doing way too lame a job with this thing you've got, so we the people have decided to repossess it." Because this place is begging to host a computer science conference.

Maiden Voyage

So I took Guizmo for a solo spin in the bay of Pto Pollenca. Incidentally, this was my first time solo on a keelboat.

Putting the main up took a lot of effort. I remembered why I liked sailing the International-14 so much: all the forces are barely manageable by regular arm power. On Guizmo, the forces are getting to the point where the winches are essential equipment. And trying to strongarm the sail can leave you with a back injury pretty easily.

Once the main was up, it was a quick push off from the berth I was sandwiched in, in between a giant Guardia Civil boat and another large boat being outfitted to travel to Trieste, off to the open seas.

The outboard engine does not work at the moment, so I was quite anxious about how I would return to the dock. I also did not know if it would even be possible to douse the sails easily. So I kept all the bumpers where they were and did not deploy a kite. With just a main and jib, and 4 knots of wind, the boat ends up reaching its hull speed of 5.5 knots in just 10 seconds or so. It's a very nimble boat! Kind of comparable to a skiff. And it can go much faster than this, essentially by skipping on the surface of the water, but that will require some extra sails, extra wind and extra effort from me.

Here's a 360 panoramic sweep while the boat is underway in the Bay of Pollenca on her "maiden" voyage (she's been around the block, has even been to Brazil in '05 minitransat race, but this is the first solo sail with me).

Evening Sail in Bay of Pollenca

Went out for for an evening sail with Pere Antoni and Javier in the Bay of Pollenca on Per Antonio's X-99. Dinner of sobrasado (Mallorcan pork sausage, one of the many awesome culinary inventions from this island) with honey followed by pasta.

Looking back on Pto Pollenca on a calm evening.

A boat with a proper galley

Javier and Pere Antoni

Charlie's Angels

Jean, Ann and Pat

Everyone thinks that I'm partying it up in Mallorca with beachfuls of topless women, but Pto Pollenca is mostly empty this time of year, except for the British pensioners and the young expecting couples. Not sure what it is, but practically every female under the age of 35, and there aren't that many, seems to be pregnant. This must be a British thing: "you must visit Pto Pollenca when you're with child." The couples seem to prefer one of the other hotels that are further away from the main thoroughfare and are thus more quiet. My hotel is mostly empty, which is great, except for these three lovely ladies.

They caught me checking myself in the mirror to see how much of my hair I had accidentally painted white, and told me that I "still looked beautiful." In turn, I nicknamed them Charlie's Angels. If there was crime on the island, I bet they would fight it. They live in very different parts of the UK but meet in Mallorca regularly. Since they were genuinely concerned about my safety on this voyage, I told them I'd create a blog and point them to it. So hello Jean, Pat and Ann!

Da plane! Da plane!

There is a small airforce base in Pto Pollenca, not far from where I keep Guizmo. They have a few fire-fighting planes, and they seem to constantly practice takeoffs and landings on the water. It's quite a sight, and a welcome break from working on painting the inside of the boat, covered in paint flecks and breathing fumes. 

Shark Attack

Beach in Pto Pollenca.

Can anyone ID if this is a shark or a skate egg?

Electrical Repairs

I needed to buy a small electrical connector for the VHF antenna today. Apparently, the electrician is next to the church in Pto Pollenca, so I needed to locate the church to get to the electrician. It was close to the end of siesta time, so the streets were totally empty, except for a waitress outside a restaurant. I decided to ask her for directions:

Me: "Parla Ingles?"

Waitress: "Nooo." She decidedly does not speak English.

Me: "Donde esta la..... church?" I make a cross with my fingers, as if to ward off some imaginary vampire.

Waitress: "Que?" She's standoffish. She might be a vampire. I abandon the little finger cross.

Me: "Church, church...." This is going nowhere. "Casa de Christo!" Not sure if it's de or del, but I'm pretty happy, this has to be a clear description.

Waitress: "Christo?" I guess it could be a common name.

Me: "El Christo!" Very proud I nailed the definite article.

Waitress: "No se." Crap. I thought, back during the Inquisition, they got rid of everyone who did not know Christ at a personal level.

Me: In a flash of inspiration, I open my arms wide to the side and cock my head, Jesus-style, and wonder 'at what point do I cross the fine line from foreigner who does not speak Spanish to offensive idiot?'  "Casa de Papa!"

Waitress: "Papa?" My body description is one step behind what I'm saying, which must be genuinely confusing, also I'm not wearing sandals (because I never wear sandals) so my Jesus impression is off. I think she thinks I'm asking about her father. She's probably confused because her father was not crucified.

Me: I'm out of words for a while. Then I get another brilliant flash. "Spiritu Sanctu! Casa de Spiritu Sanctu!"

Waitress: "Iglesia!!!"

Who says Latin is dead?