East at Last

Despite the coldest winter for years in the UK, we returned to warm sunshine and clear skies. Well what did we expect at the end of March, rain? We listened to stories from those that had gone without water and electricity, limited food supplies and a Government that didn’t give a toss for the old folks. I thought we had left Burma in February, where such minor problems are just an everyday occurrence?

The three months away in Asia were very soon gone and the two months we planned to stay in England were getting so booked up with jobs that needed to be done before we returned to the boat, I feared that leaving might never happen.

I didn’t make life any easier for myself by deciding to rebuild the engine in our ‘camper’, two weeks before we were due to fly back to Tunisia. Sadly, the crucial parts I needed (big ends and mains) were in Italy and when they arrived, they were not the correct size. I blame the bloke in parts that ordered them but he was very helpful in sourcing replacements, also from Italy but this time from Fiat rather than Iveco.

It did go back together in time but I wish I hadn’t started, other jobs got pushed out and some were forgotten altogether. To add to my misery, the Turbo blew up on the Sprinter Van, two days before we were due to leave. I wouldn’t have been bothered but as a friend was taking it to Spa, in Belgium, the following week for the Classic Endurance, it needed to get fixed quickly. I won’t bore you with the failings of others for fear of slander; suffice to say the van did not go to Spa this year and someone is off my Christmas card list (if I had one)...

What else could go wrong I pondered as we left a depressing Britain? Refreshingly on time, BA from Gatwick (Thanks Bruce!) and within our extended weight limit, all was good? (Did I forget to mention the new £1500 Cruising Chute from Dolphin Sails arrived only four days before we left, dumped on the street outside the office without even a signature?)

Our ever reliable friend Mick was on time to collect us from Tunis Airport and regaled with current tales from the Marina as we drove south down the ‘new’ motorway to Port Yasmine, Hammamet. It felt good to be back.

Christina Lee had now spent the longest time unattended since we bought her but she had been washed and aired prior to our arrival by Mick’s trusty wife, Jo, bless her. It’s never a pretty sight to return to your boat if you keep it in Africa, constantly being blasted by red dust from the Sahara that ingrains itself into every orifice. The infrequent winter rains had taken its toll and as hard as the dehumidifier had tried to dry out the inside of the boat, it had leaked water onto the floor and damaged the laminate. The roof had leaked onto the table and that was now de-laminating and had gone dark in places. The engine start battery had expired, only three years old, still in nappies. The outboard motor was sulking and I had to strip the carb’ three times before it would run properly. Hey Ho, what else would I do with my time?

We have finally arrived in Siracusa Sicily, from Malta and are enjoying a welcome rest after being stuck in Valetta for five days. Stuck being the operative word as the NW wind did not go below a force five for nearly a week and we were marooned like a leper colony, out in Rinella Fort anchorage, Grand Harbour. It’s one of our favourite places to stay, not just because it’s free but it has a fantastic view of the harbour and we can see all the comings and goings of the very busy port, just off the bow. At the weekend the local’s converge on the bay as it’s the only spot that has some semblance of a beach, whole families will camp out on the sea wall with their BBQ’s and beer for the entire weekend. We did feel sorry for some of them as they were not prepared for the wind and it ain't easy fixing a tent to tarmac let alone cooking. This picture was taken before the wind arrived. After the first few days of wind I managed to sleep at night as we seemed to be staying in the same place, though sailing on the anchor chain a lot. It turned out that the chain was stuck round a rock and we would never have dragged; the anchor was not even buried in the sand. The mind can play terrible tricks on you when you are in bed and on anchor, I never sleep well but Gay is out like a drunk. Guess I’d better get used to life on the hook, as that’s what it will be this year.

This Vessel was about twelve miles long and taller than Everest, I kid you not....... The Tug is 60 feet.