The south of France

27th July 2023

Thursday 27th July was a beautiful morning. The winds had calmed, the sun shone and we woke around 6.15 am. When I say 'we', I pretended to be asleep for a bit longer while Igor made coffee (his is much better than mine). I went for one last walk around the marina before we left to get my blood flowing then we left Port du Frioul at 6.40 am.

The wind was predicted to be with us so we raised both our sails. As a precaution we'd put a couple of reefs in the mainsail. Shall I explain what a reef is and why it's a good idea? If want to know, just go to the PS at the bottom of today's entry.

We sail by the rule 'If you're wondering whether to reef, you gotta reef'.  The forecast was that the winds would be pretty strong, but in the event this didn't happen. The log book records us raising and lowering the sails four times between 6.50 and 10.30am. The longest period spent under sail was only about 30 minutes. There just wasn't any reliable wind at all. Each time we put the sails up the boat would speed up then the wind died away so we had to take them down.

The scenery made up for the lack of wind. The distant hills were misty in the morning sunshine, with small towns scattered from time to time.

We planned to moor in Calanque de Miou, a natural cove transformed into a marina without any major modifications. Most boats moor stern to the cliff, rather than to pontoons, and secure the front ot the boat to a mooring buoy. When we arrived we were surprised at how busy it was. We spent a while trying to find a mooring and also trying to figure out how to tie up.

If we had a crew (such as our big strong sons) with us they could jump in the water, swim with the rope to the wall and tie up. Igor was well capable of this but that would mean me having to manoeuvre the boat at close quarters while he swam.  We weren't confident of my boat handling and I wasn't confident about swimming. We decided to carry on.

This proved to be an excellent move as we ended up in La Ciotat, a pretty and bustling small town with a decent marina.

We moored, helped by a couple of guys from the capitanerie who took our lines and secured our aft.  We were next to a big and expensive looking motor boat and the wind had picked up, blowing us towards it.

Luckily it had a lot of fenders for protection, so while Igor sorted out the ropes I pushed us away from it as best as I could. Once secured Igor picked up the line to secure the front of the boat.

La Ciotat was a great place for so many reasons.  There are restaurants all around the harbour and a supermarket and other useful shops within easy walking distance. There was a choice of artisan ice cream shops (very important).

The capitanerie was very close and surrounded by upmarket shops, one of which sold local soaps and smelt exquisitely of lavender and flowers as we walked by. A lot of marinas have these so called shopping complexes, but sadly, in England at least, they often seem to be empty. It was good to know that sometimes these ideas work.

The only downside was that the harbour wall that we were secured to was quite high and the design of our boat is such that we couldn't fix a walkway to it. This wasn't an issue for Igor, who could just step on and off, but my limbs are much shorter. To disembark I had to reach over to the quayside and scramble over on all fours. To get back on involved sitting on the edge, grabbing the boat then putting my feet on it and stepping down. Thankfully no mishaps.

We went for a walk, away from the waterfront to the narrow streets behind. Too narrow for more than the tiniest car, people had washing hanging out to dry and the place, though picturesque, felt very lived in.

There was a church so we went and had a look inside.  It was an understated building, little decoration apart from exquisite stained glass above the altar, but on a side wall was a massive mural of the life of Christ.

The paint was thick and it almost looked crudely executed until you realised the level of detail in the work. It was fascinating. I speculated what the reaction would be in an English church to a work like this.

As we left the church, market traders were setting up their stalls alongside the water. Lots of jewellery, souvenirs, hats, soap, bric a brac, none of which I needed. We returned to the boat and I made dinner. We took another walk afterwards, this time to the Calanque du Grand Mugel.

There was a small beach and a restaurant. Next to it was the national park but the gates were locked as it was after 8pm so we only got a tantalising glimpse.

The walk there was hilly and it still quite warm so we turned back as we were getting a bit tired by now. Back on the boat we listened to the sounds of people socialising, eating and drinking, music on the air. A childrens entertainer blew huge bubbles which the kids did their best to pop.  

What a marvellous place this is.

Friday 28th July 2023

No early start for us today, we slept in until nearly 8.30am.  We had a leisurely start, showers, breakfast, even washing a few bits in the sink, and then set off just after 11am.   Once we were on course I made a cuppa. The wind was with us today so we set the sails and were able to turn off the engine for a couple of hours.

Once we reached the open water outside the harbour the sea was bumpy and something in its movement finally set off my seasickness. I knew it was too good to last. This was so annoying, I've really enjoyed our last few sails, feeling like a human being. Thankfully it resolved itself.  We were heading to spend the rest of the day and overnight at anchor in the Archipel des Embiez, a series of islands whose sizes range from small to tiny to rocks.

There were already quite a lot of boats in the main anchorage area so we moored near to a beach, the Plage des Allemands according to the map. There was a cruise ship in the bay much nearer to the land which had a very distinctive outline, five masts rising from the deck. Turns out it was a boat called Windsurf, the largest sailing cruise ship in the world.

The massive sails were dwarfed by the even more massive hull of a ship that can carry over 300 passengers.

We had anchored in a current, probably a result of water flowing through the gaps between the reefs nearby. This had the benefit of helping to bed our anchor properly so we could be confident it would hold us.

We had lunch and Igor decided to have a swim but judged it as cold. Probably a leftover from the recent Mistral. Nobody else was swimming either so I didn't check for myself.

We spent the day relaxing, though I did do a bit of work. The boat was rolling around a bit but I was over my seasickness so it didn't bother me. I was able to make dinner with no issues, and we ate watching the sun set.

Lovely.  Igor slept on deck in case there were issues with the anchor overnight but thankfully it was well set and no trouble.

All in all a lovely day, and incidentally the first time in forever that I haven't spent any money at all!

PS Reefing

Sails are designed to work best under a given set of wind conditions. When the conditions are right you raise the sail to it's maximum height and skim across the water at a delightful speed. Great. What, though, if there is more wind than you want? If you leave the full sail up you will heel over which some people like but doesn't necessarily get the best performance from the boat. It can be bumpier than necessary and unpleasant. Most of us don't have the resources to change sails according to conditions so what we do instead is 'reef'.

Here is a diagram of a sail so that I can use the correct terminology and you'll understand if this is new to you:

Reefing means reducing the area of the sail and thus its power. On our boat we have a classic or traditional system called slab reefing. To reef you go to the mast and if you look up you'll see three metal rings on webbing, near the luff (the edge next to the mast) at different heights. At the bottom, below the tack where the boom meets the mast, are short non stretch Dyneema ropes with a  snap shackle spliced on. You drop the sail a little so that the snap shackle can close around the ring and this holds the sail down at the mast end. The position of the ring you use determines how much the sail area is reduced. If the wind is just a little bit too strong you'd use the lowest one, if it's really blowing the middle.  If you need to use the top one you would be better off staying in port.

To control the leech of the sail there are cringles (they look like eyelets) by the edge, with strong ropes that go down into the boom and feed into the cockpit. Once the sail is dropped enough that you can secure the reefing eyes next to the mast you just tighten the reefing lines (ie the strong ropes). This holds things safely and the working area of the sail is reduced. This means you sail more upright, faster and more comfortably and safely.

Saturday 29th July 2023

We woke around 6.45 am and set off at 7.30 ish. There was no wind at all. We had to negotiate a passage through the reef so lifted our keel as its full depth of nearly 3m might have caused problems. We carefully passed between the island and some rocks, our depth never less than 5m.

Once the mist lifted we could see cliffs. At the base of one of them was a long, low building.

We both studied it. In front of it stood an earth mover. How had it all got there? There was no obvious road.

We decided it probably belonged to a Bond villain.

Just past this we came to the bay where Toulon is situated. The wind had picked up nicely so we raised the jib which increased our speed nicely.  I noticed an odd shape on the surface of the water in the distance - a submarine.

We had been keeping a listening watch on the VHF radio, Channel 16, and it gave repeated 'sécurité' announcements. These are warnings to shipping to be aware of potential hazards, in this case a submarine on manoeuvres in the area. The warning was repeated in English, telling us to keep a distance of at least 1-2km from the sub.

The sea was a bit rolly, not too bad but enough to make me feel ill. We'd noticed a threatening bank of cloud on the horizon earlier. I did my best to pay attention and look at the horizon, time honoured cure. At this point the visibility disappeared. I am not joking, the fog suddenly materialised all around us, cutting what we could see to maybe 50 metres.

Terror drove my seasickness away. We had seen a lot of boats on the water, where were they now? Where was the sub? All we could see was each other and the thick grey fog.

We put on lifejackets and got the foghorn out. The relevant paragraph in the Safety of Life at Sea Regulations (SOLAS, an international treaty to keep all seafarers safe) says 'A power-driven vessel making way through the water shall sound at intervals of not more than 2 minutes one prolonged blast.' A sailing boat is considered to be a power vessel when the engine is on and we had dropped the sail as it was restricting our ability to see ahead so we were 'power driven' at this point. The whole 'steam gives way to sail' is an oversimplification anyway, and in these conditions your prime consideration is not to hit anything or anybody.  

Igor blew on the foghorn as per the regulations. Boats loomed out of the murk. Nobody else was making sound signals. Some of them didn't slow down, some didn't even seem to be keeping any lookout at all. They got a few extra blasts for that. It was absolutely full on, both of us keeping our eyes open to the front, the back and both sides of the boat and taking evasive action where necessary. Utterly terrifying and it went on for two and a half hours. We didn't dare to move from the cockpit, so no drinks of water or comfort breaks. This was survival stuff (this is why there aren't many photos of this bit).

By the way, while all this was going on, the sécurité message was repeated at regular intervals. How were we supposed to keep clear of the wretched submarine if we couldn't see the damn thing? It was probably better visibility under the water than above it but even so, how are you supposed to know if it's underneath you?

The reason for the fog was that the sea water was cold, having been disturbed by the Mistral previously, and the air temperature was hot. This causes an advection fog. The cold sea surface cools the warm air above it until it can no longer hold its moisture. This forces the warm air to condense, forming tiny particles of water which lead to the fog that we see that prevents us from seeing what we need to see. Unlike the fog on land it doesn't blow away in the breeze, scary.

Our destination was the Ile d'Hyeres and as we neared the island the fog miraculously lifted.

We were very close, the island looming in front of us. I was so happy to see (actually be able to see) the land. Within a couple of minutes we were in brilliant sunshine, as if the fog had never happened.

We moored at Porquerolles, an idyllic, busy and huge harbour. Employees of the marina took our lines to help us moor but they were pretty clueless. There was a strong wind blowing from our port side, taking us unnervingly close to the boat next door. The young woman helping us didn't seem to realise what was going on, leading to misunderstandings as Igor tried to use the engine to keep us in place. We finally positioned ourselves correctly and I went off the the capitanerie  to pay. 64 Euros a night!! And no wifi or breakfast included!!! What? We really are in the south of France now, the fees at Frioul seemed quite reasonable by comparison.

Like many islands everything is more expensive but we carry lots of food so it isn't the end of the world. Another boat pulled in next to us and we got chatting to the people onboard. Maribel and Gabriel were heading, like us, to Aegina so we were able to compare notes. We hope to meet up with them later in our travels.

After lunch we went for a walk along the beach and had a swim. It was a long way, up and down hill, accompanied by the deafening sound of cicadas and a wonderful scent of pine and eucalyptus.  There are very few cars on the island but a lot of bicycle hire shops as you can probably guess from the photo. Electric bikes are very popular, a good idea with the steep slopes everywhere.

The beach was narrow but the water was warm and crystal clear and I spent a while floating there in my glasses and sunhat, revelling in the feeling of being somewhere very special.

There was a line of yellow buoys a couple of hundred metres from the beach and beyond that masses of boats bobbed at anchor. We didn't stay very long as it was getting late.

We decided to get an ice cream and spent a while choosing our flavours at yet another artisan shop. I settled on apricot and rosemary, an intriguing sounding mix, while Igor went for salted caramel. The young man behind the counter filled our pots and I offered my phone to pay. It didn't work. Igor gave his bank card. Nothing. I tried my credit card. Nope. We tried our business debit cards. Nothing at all. The internet didn't seem to be working. It was only 7 euros so we're definitely good for the money but we didn't have any cash on us so had to leave the (untouched) ice creams at the shop. Disappointing. We consoled ourselves by buying wood fired pizzas for dinner.

We decided to eat on the boat, bliss, watching the sun go down on a warm evening in a safe harbour with a good meal. Can it get any better?

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