A weathered, sun-kissed face pops up from the water with a huge grin wearing a snorkel and diving mask.
"Good morning! Did I wake you last night?"
"I was dragging again and again, and at 1 am I was trying to fix it. I hope I didn’t disturb you!" Alarmingly, we slept through it all.
It’s our neighbour! The same guy who gave us a thumbs-up, smiling even though we anchored quite close to him last night. He tells us he’s sailing solo, on his way to Sardinia, but waiting for better weather and his crew. He tells us that his trip to Menorca was rough – two days alone, without autopilot. We can only imagine.
“I like all sailors,” he says, “even those on catamarans.”
"I always wave to people," he continues. "If they don’t wave back the first time, I figure they’re busy. So, I wave again. And if they still don’t return it, I give it one more try just to be sure!" He grins. "Then I know. And that’s okay." With that, he swims off to look for his anchor in the murky water, easily befriending everyone at the anchorage with his positive, laid-back, non-judgemental attitude. We decide to adopt his attitude. Well, except for the men in Speedo's speeding by in motorboats so close that we could practically touch them, causing everything inside our boat to topple over. We relish this common enemy a bit, but for everyone else, we’re adopting the positive vibes.
Later that evening, in the middle of our dinner, a red dinghy heads straight for us. We glance at each other, confused—"Is he coming here?" It sure looks like it. As he starts speaking, we struggle to understand him until it dawns on us: he’s from Bergen! We invite him aboard—the first Norwegian sailor we’ve met so far.
"Korsen e det å seile med støttejul"?
(How’s it feel to sail with training wheels?)
he jokes, referring to the two hulls on our catamaran, before launching into endless stories, speaking in rapid Bergen dialect, much to the children’s fascination. Suddenly, he remembers he has to go—he’s off to meet other sailors in town for beers. We should’ve guessed he was Norwegian by the light hair and wool socks!
The weather has shifted—a cold front from the north has arrived, and it feels so good! Christoffer pulls out his own wool socks, and the blankets Grandma made are keeping us warm at night.
Menorca is a place we’d love to return to. Our plan was to spend a week here and skip Mallorca, but the weather insists we move on. The Mistral is set to hit Menorca’s northern coast on Friday the 13th. Despite our short stay, we’ve fallen in love with this island. After two nights in Mahon, we made a quick stop to refuel in the charming town. Colourful houses, fishing boats, and historic buildings make this a unique place. Unlike previous destinations, there are fewer tourists, and we can move freely—no tourist shops and only a few scattered restaurants along the beach. The island is also a nature reserve.
The shoreline is rugged and untamed, with cliffs of white and pale limestone, sculpted by the sea and waves over millions of year. And I never tire of looking at it. Just letting the eyes rest on the landscape for hours. Along these rugged shores the tiny local fishing boats bounce every day.
Sailing along the southern coast, we passed some fantastic anchorages, like Cala Covas. Unfortunately, they were all full, so we settled at Cala en Porter, a beautiful but rolly spot. At our anchorage, a fancy-looking restaurant and hotel are perched at the cliff’s edge, built into the rock. Emilie and I went ashore and up the steep beautiful stairs to the shop to get some groceries.
On our crossing from Menorca to Mallorca, Espen noticed a place on the map named "Emilie." Intrigued, he pointed it out to me, but since we’d been up since 5 a.m., my enthusiasm wasn’t quite there—I’m not great at sleeping while the boat rolls. I muttered a sleepy “mhm” and dozed off again. When I woke up, there was a link to a scientific article in my inbox: Geodynamics of the Emile Baudot Escarpment and the Balearic Promontory, Western Mediterranean. “I think you’ll find this interesting,” he said. He knows me well.
The Emile Baudot Escarpment is a significant underwater geological feature off the coast of the Balearic Islands, almost named after Emilie, but not quite! It’s part of the transition from the Balearic Islands' continental shelf to the deeper Mediterranean waters. This escarpment plays a key role in oceanographic studies, particularly in water flow and sediment transport.
As an underwater feature, the escarpment supports diverse marine life, including species adapted to deeper, cooler waters. Emilie would love to explore this further she has a lot of knowledge and is super interested in different forms of marine life. She knows a lot of these species by heart, and we learn something new from her all the time. I bought her a book called Around the Ocean in 80 fish & other sea life by dr. Helen Scales, and she is just asking for more. I think its time to introduce her to Syliva Earl.
During the Miocene period, tectonic forces pushed up and folded the Ibiza and Mallorca blocks. Meanwhile, the Menorca block remained relatively undisturbed, though the area between Mallorca and Menorca shows signs of folding and faulting, indicating geological activity. Volcanic formations from that period are found extensively between the Ibiza and Mallorca blocks, adding to the area's geological intrigue.
This is what it looks like on out chart plotter:
As we enjoy the perfect sailing winds, we reflect on our adventures. Despite trying to secure a marina berth before the crossing, we had no luck—all were full. We managed to snag a buoy in Porto Petro, a calm, protected spot. We are coming to realise that we will probably not get a berth during our navigation of the Baleares. But the weather is not looking too bad, and it is all forgotten as we enjoy dinner at Rafael and y Flora, served by Rafael himself, the only one with a name tag. Rafael is a charming man in his sixties with a dark beard and a twinkle in his eye, he encouraged us to practice our Spanish as we savoured the best paella I’ve ever tasted. And offcource we had to taste his much recommended aioli. After a short stroll around town, we rowed back to Yggdrasil, content and full.
The weather is about to pick up, so once again, we’re trying to secure a berth at a marina—this time in Palma. Emilie and I have begun planning our costumes for the underwater-themed party we’ll attend when we reach Las Palmas on Gran Canaria with the other boats joining the ARC+ to cross the atlantic. We need to find a craft store. Oh, and we also need a new outboard motor. Our supplier told us it’s a known defect, so we’re getting a replacement. Unfortunately, it’s not something we can easily fix ourselves. I’m afraid we’ll end up getting two—one gasoline-powered for backup, just in case.
Despite our efforts, there are no available berths in any of the marinas. We set out from Porto Petro in excellent sailing weather, which holds until we round Cap de Ses Salines. From there, until we drop anchor at Arenal de Sa Rapita, we’re beating into the wind and waves, which hit us head-on. It’s a bumpy ride, but eventually, we manage to get the anchor down. And stay here two nights to wait out the weather.
Crossing to Ibiza
It's 5 a.m. and pitch black. All I want is to crawl back into bed, but today we're crossing to Ibiza, so I’d better get up.
Clonk, clonk, clonk—Espen is already pulling up the anchor chain. I aim my headlamp at the neighbouring boats, making sure we have plenty of room before we set course for Ibiza.
The seas are calm and we only see the lights from the marina and two light houses. I hand the helm to Espen and take a quick nap, waking up to a beautiful sunrise and a hot cup of coffee.
Life doesn’t get much better than this.
The forecasted wind don`t shown up. As we near Ibiza, gentle but big swells lift us up and set us down again, so different from the steep, choppy waves we've faced so far. They feel soft and soothing. And just as if the moment couldn’t get any better, dolphins appear in the crystal-clear water, welcoming us to the party island.
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