Mimosa Monday

The yellow spray of Mimosa as I drive to work in the warmth of one of January's Mondays, fills me with concern for the lack of snow in the Alps and the little action my snowboard is experiencing. When the winters are cold and the snow is deep you can almost feel the excitement waft down to you in an over-flow of exhausted fun which beckons you up with charmingly chill arms.

This year there is no welcoming pierce of white invitation from the mountains this side of France. To find good snow we must travel north where apparently they are drowning in the stuff. There is no doubt about it; we’re deeply jealous. We could take a weekend and travel a little further afield to satisfy our snowboarding cravings but then we’d have to take more time and spend more money and that’s not part of this winters plan. The purse strings are puckered and tight.

My days on Mariquita are rattling on at a gentle pace of typical boat maintenance. I have painted deck heads and beams and varnished floors and cooked some lunches. It is an unfortunate disposition when one has a blood-curdling reaction to sandpaper and also works on an old wooden boat – but I do and always have. I shudder even at the thought of sandpaper and anything of a similar texture such as bricks, unglazed terracotta or blackboards. The thought has me bucking in uncomfortable shivers. Consequently a good few of my jobs on the boat verge on the torturous and take a great deal of mental persuasion to get the job done. It’s not all roses.

However it will all be about the blossoming Mimosa; the warm, scentful and tiny yellow buds that emerge in their thousands around the Cote D’Azure at the first inclination of a new season. Whether you’d prefer the cold and snow or not, there is nothing we can do about it. Mother Nature follows her nose and here she is bidding for Spring.

Taking Down The Top Mast

They opened the flood gates in La Mole today. The ground has reached its saturation limit after a week of rain and is now pouring out of the banks of rivers and streams as though on a highly important mission. We got to go home early from work though! Once they’ve opened the gates, they close all the roads so we made a dash for home in my little Clio, having been warned of the approaching floods. It was like having a day off school because of snow.

Last week, just before it all kicked off and the ground was still able to absorb what was being chucked out of the sky, we took off our top mast. It’s down for the winter for sanding, varnishing and maintenance. It takes a lot of stick up there during the racing season what with that jackyard up in all weathers and it’s good to give the top mast some loving.

A crane, some slings, a lot of rope and a few prayers are needed for the operation and preferably no wind – we had about 8 knots and building so the job was done in a very non-French manner; quickly.

George was the one to go up the mast in the bosun’s chair to tie on in all manner of specific knots, a variety of lines and straps to be attached to the cranes hook. I’m always very proud of him at times like these. Admittedly also a little concerned but mostly I just fancy him loads when he’s up there being all sailory and clever and brave.

And it all went without incident of course. Big sighs of relief all round. The top mast is now horizontal in our container in the yard in Cogolin Mariner awaiting a nice new coat of varnish. Well, we hope it’s still there and not bobbing out to sea having been swept out by the rush of flood water, a most undignified way to go for Mariquita’s top-mast I should imagine.

We’ll have to see what tomorrow brings and whether we can even get to the boat by car. Finger’s crossed. It’s the mushrooms and the poor vineyards I worry about…

I’ll keep you up to date and hope that you are not also currently seeking higher ground from floods.

Thanks for reading.

Cheers! 

Pop, out she comes.

Mariquita's now stumpy mast.

Not Making Jam

I know you must think me weird when I say how jealous I am of all you UK-dwelling folk and other international land-lubber types and your September events; namely the food festivals, harvest festivals, jam and chutney making, frantic fruit cooking fiascos of this fantastic time of year.

But I am.

My Mum has just finished potting up her kilos of Damson jam and is very proud of her huge Kilner jars full of damsons in Gin, seeping brilliantly into a deep, velvety purple in time for Chr!$tm@$. ( Couldn’t quite bring myself to exactly type the word yet, but you know what I’m saying). After which she’ll be tucking into a productive day making the Crab Apple jelly.

And I feel left out.  I know, I know; here I am sitting on a beautiful, hundred year old racing yacht at anchor in the bay of St Tropez. It’s still pretty hot in the sun and there are glamorous motor yachts and villas and fabulous French folk (heavy with the F’s in this blog I’m noticing) surrounding me. But I’d give anything to be in my Mum’s kitchen making Damson jam and Crab Apple jelly; the radio on and possibly a bit of harmless rain outside, the windows steaming up with the excitement of it all.

Please don’t hate me.

I guess I had my week back home and I did get to make my stuffed apples. I should be grateful. And I am. I’m just a little nervous about the up and coming next three weeks. You see we will race in the Monaco regatta, the Cannes Regatte Royal and then finally the Voile de St Tropez regatta. Only 3 days in the next 3 weeks will be non-sailing days. We will have VIP’s to entertain and canapés to make, champagne to pour, a million sandwiches to make, regatta events to take part in, such as the Cannes regatta Tug-of-War (which we won last year) and all that on top of some pretty strenuous rope pulling, harness wearing, rig stressing, shanty singing, underwater sailing.

Phew, I’m tired already.

I think I’m getting too old for all of this ( Have I said that before?). My physio would probably agree although I’d take a guess he’s grateful for all the business he gets from the broken crew at the end of the season.

But once the St Tropez regatta is finished, it’s all over. The season is ended and we’ll be moving back into our winter crew house up the hill. It seems like yesterday I wrote my first blog ‘An Explanation of Sorts’, before all the racing began in March. And here we are; the end in sight.

So if I’m not around much in the next three weeks I hope you’ll understand why. I will try my hardest to keep you updated with the racing adventures and canapé building, crew cooking stories and of course loads of photos included. Make the most of it I say; come October you wont be able to get rid of me. Living in the crew house up the hill with a real kitchen that doesn't move and a real oven that works! Mushrooms to forage, Wild boar to catch, chestnut festivals and wine Chateaus to visit… And all with a constant supply of Wifi.

 

Just you wait.

Thanks for reading (and understanding), wish us luck and stay tuned for the sprint finish. We can do it! Mariquita’s sailing adventures at one hundred years old and my life at 33 Degrees.

Here we go…

Barcelona To Palma

I am sitting in a nice little coffee shop in the city of Palma in Mallorca sipping on an iced coffee ‘shakerato’, nibbling on a very flaky croissant and I’m finally connected to the internet. This blogging when travelling on a wooden boat is not easy you know. I walked miles to find this place in the mid-day sun. Mad dogs and English girls…

The blog below was written 2 days ago but I thought I’d send it anyway. Keeps everyone in the loop and up to date and if any of those naughty sons on board haven’t yet rung home to let folks know they are safe and well, then this should suffice for now;

If I give you the sob story first then you won’t dislike me too much when I explain the scenery in which I am writing this blog now.

The wind howled and the sea seemed to swell with an awesome power as every wave approached, gaining height and speed with the intent that only Mother Nature can throw at you…Okay, I exaggerate slightly. It was actually quite a good trip to Palma from Barcelona. It’s a distance of just about a hundred miles so we did it in 18 hours with a lovely sunset to boot. The problem (the sob story I promised) was that infernal sea-swell that plagued us on the way to Barcelona. We somehow managed once again to be taking the boat directly into the wind with a huge aft, starboard quarter swell which rocked and rolled the boat in sets that surfers on a beach would adore. Not cooks down below in a dark and airless galley.

The boys came up with this idea to keep me cool in my galley. The fan is blowing cool air through my little port hole directly over me. Genius. I love them.

It’s exhausting. It took me three whole hours to make a beef stroganoff with noodles and a cauliflower with mushroom stroganoff for the non-beef eaters. I even flambéed the hot paprika and cumin sautéed cauliflower florets, in a little brandy before adding crème fraiche and Dijon mustard; probably not wise on a wooden boat, that’s rolling around like a pig in mud (don’t tell the captain). But I needed something fun to perk up the experience which had me regularly thrown from my tight body-clutch to the galley cupboards, sending my onions off in every other direction but my chopping board.

(I once tested the potential rolling speed of certain vegetables on a particularly rough crossing once. Courgettes can build a good speed and seem to gain confidence as they go. Aubergines predictably end up veering off to one side, unable to handle the competition that tomatoes can offer. But courgettes and onions are the winners in any tilted galley. The trick is to quickly halve the little blighters, removing their rolling capacity rendering them completely unable to escape the chop. Hah!)

And once again, I’m sorry to say, no fish. Very disappointing indeed. George even bought new lures; but to no avail. We’re starting to take it personally now. George isn’t handling it well. I think his hunter/gatherer instinct is wounded…male pride. And my sashimi knife is waiting, honed, sharpened; standing by to stand by.

Our fishing gear in for the night. But it's about as useful when the line is out...

The end to my pretty tame ‘sob’ story is that we’re anchored off an island, west of the bay of Palma as I write. It’s a stunning day and we’ve all been for a little refreshing swim in the incredibly clear waters and mucked about with fins and snorkels. We’ve all caught up on sleep lost from standing watches through the night and I made a little light salmon and leek frittata lunch (recipe to follow). We may even have indulged in a glass of rosé wine with ice. Sounds pretty awful I’m sure. But we’re going into Palma tomorrow and Sunday the hard work starts. Regatta crew will be flying in and race training starts Monday. It should be a fun regatta and if we win anything we could get to meet the king of Spain. Lucky us.

Today we were very lucky. A nice little day off. I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned it in this blog before, but I may have the best job in the world. Life at 33 Degrees is A-Okay by me. (She says before two back-to-back regattas)

Thanks for reading, see you soon.

Cheers!

Sightseeing and Sushi

A small section of view from the rooftop bar at the Hotel Majestic. Gaudi's Casa Batlló on the right.

I’m staying in this week. For the sake of my wallet and my health I’m eating home cooked food and will not consume any alcohol or junk and I will be going to bed every night at an extraordinarily reasonable hour.

How about that then.

I might also be kidding myself because my friend Robyn has agreed to show me some very cool and exciting things like a cupcake shop, the best place to drink tea and the best bakers here in Barcelona. But then, that all sounds like fairly wholesome stuff.

There is so much to do and experience here. However I’m coming to the conclusion that if I neglect to see every good restaurant, museum and cocktail bar then I have a very good excuse to keep returning in the future. If I try to do it all now, I could possibly do myself an injury. Three banana daiquiris, though delicious and a fun new experience, were more than likely the root of my Sunday morning unproductiveness

And before you start to wonder if my idea of culture is limited to food and drink, never fear. I visited Gaudi’s extraordinary Casa Batlló at the weekend. Antoni Gaudi, Spain’s most famous architect remodelled the building, owned by Joseph Batlló, between the years of 1904-06. It is known locally as the ‘Casa dels Ossos’, the House of Bones because of its skeletal quality.

Inside it is hard to find a straight line and even though the woman speaking to you through your hand-held 'speaking guide' tells you there are few, if any straight lines; if you’re like me then the challenge is on and you will be seeking straight lines in every nook and cranny. So if you get to go then at least you can relax and enjoy the tour because apart from things like furniture and stair treads, there really are no straight lines. I've done it for you. Phew. 

 It is truly stunning and a pleasure to visit and even George, my boyfriend enjoyed it a lot and he’s not great at sight-seeing.

 

This was the day after the sushi night. Our second visit to the ‘Matsuri’, Southeast Asia restaurant in the Barri Gotic region of Barcelona.

It really is the best sushi I have ever eaten. It’s the rice more than anything. If you’ve made a lot of sushi you will know that getting the rice perfect makes the biggest of differences to the final result. The sushi at Matsuri has a creamy, melt in the mouth effect and is neither heavy nor compact. The rice is on the light side of the ingredients and the filling shines through as a fresh and exciting little revelation. Like the mango in the spicy tuna sushi and the prawn tempura in the Tokyo. The California special is a must and if you’ve never eaten your own body weight in sushi before let me advise you that it is totally possible if you eat it here. Matt Barker, the owner and Captain of The Blue Peter, has admitted to eating there ‘practically’ every night so far. But then he’s allowed. He’s about to run in the New York Triathlon. I would seriously consider entering it too if it meant eating sushi every night. Hey, its healthy stuff!

The restaurant is very chic and pretty ‘zen’ so works well for crew and ‘guest/owner’ nights out alike.

After our visit to the Casa Batlló the next day (conveniently around lunch time…), we decided that since we were just down the road from the Hotel Majestic, we may as well pop-on-up to the tenth floor to visit ‘The Gourmet Bar’. It is a very elegant rooftop bar that has panoramic views over the city. Comfortable chairs too, Philippe Starke you know. 

So of course because we were up there it felt rude just to look at the view and leave giving nothing but our ‘oohs’ and ‘aaghs’; so we sat down to a few glasses of Cava and a little light lunch.

Then I think that day might have evolved into what was the banana Daiquiri night…

And here I am now, glad to be on the boat with a mug of tea and a cooling fan and no where to go for a while. Lovely. Well, we’ve still got a little time left here for a few more Barcelona adventures so one would be wise to pace oneself I reckon.

Thanks for reading! Hope you tried out the Pimms and Paella party idea?! Let me know.

I have a great little recipe for you next. Good, easy, cheap and very tasty little lunch idea.

Join me then. Cheers!

Skateboarding is where it's at in Barcelona

A Trip to Barcelona

Mariquita and crew arrived safe and well in Barcelona yesterday! (Thursday, sorry not great internet here)

Our arrival into any harbour after a delivery is normally followed with a

The boy's bunks

good boat clean, on deck and down below. This will take up most of our time, that potentially should be spent letting loved ones back home know that we’re all good and well. But honestly you wouldn’t believe how grotty the forepeak seems to get; all those boys sleeping in such close quarters in a dark hole.  It is essential work after a delivery to give everything a really good airing and thorough clean; the floors, the towels, the galley. So I hope that this will suffice for any of you Mum’s/girlfriends/wives out there who might still be waiting for that yet-to-come phone call.

The forepeak after a delivery. Nice.

And joy of all joys! We’re attached to land this time. So that means constant access to the shops, internet cafes and gelato. Hoorah!

The Porquerolles

Very little of any note happened on our little cruise to Espagne.  The first day we gunned it (7 knots) to the Iles de Porquerolles, part of the Hyeres Islands west of St Tropez. A beautiful island covered with green trees that verberate with the sound of billions of invisible cicadas, chirruping with the intensity of some huge power station. You can’t see them but by goodness you can hear them.

That evening, in Matty’s honour I made homemade 4^th July cheese burgers for dinner. God bless America.

We were lucky enough to have the next whole day at anchor so that we could explore the island and do a bit of free diving in the very clear, beautiful waters. Definitely a place to visit if you’ve never been before. So that was all very nice.

Exploring inland.

We left early the next morning, a glorious morning and ploughed into the biggest and most uncomfortable swell which stayed with us for most of the day. There was no breeze and blazing sunshine which meant that life in the galley was very hot, airless and incredibly unsteady as we pitched and rolled and stopped and started. It wasn’t a huge amount of fun. I ended up cling-filming everything down to the work top and was tempted to cling-film myself there after I unwittingly rugby tackled the fridge door. I wasn’t much in the mood for lunch after I had cooked it. I don’t often get sea-sick and have lots of little tricks to keep it at bay especially when I’m cooking inside what could quite feasibly be a bucking bronco.  A few moments up on deck later and I suddenly had my sea legs back. I can tell when they’ve arrived. I feel like I could stand on my head in the galley and be absolutely fine in a raging storm.

Stay!

Dinner then became the easiest slow cooked, one-pot, tarragon chicken casserole served with rice (though not standing on my head). Comfort food and settling, for more than a few un-settled stomachs on board. For those that needed to it was ladled into mugs and eaten up on deck with a spoon. Yum.

A very serious game of chess between Will and Billy.

But yet again, no fish on the end of the line. I just don’t understand it! We need to do some serious lure shopping I think. Disappointing.

Arriving In Barcelona!

So we arrived early evening last night. It was a very exciting arrival because it was pretty new to most of us on board. Only a few of the crew have been here before. I can say already that it is incredibly hot and we’re being warned constantly about pick-pocketing which is a little stressful. I think though that like any big city, you keep your wits about you and cash and cards stuffed down various items of underwear. I’m sure we’ll be fine.

So that brings you pretty much up to date with Mariquita. The regatta crew will be arriving soon and the regatta should be a whole lot of fun. Tomorrow I’ll be out exploring the city, trying to find the supermarkets, bread shops, maybe the odd shoe shop and restaurant and all whilst trying out my recently learned 3 words of Spanish.

And maybe out for a drink tonight…

Thanks for reading and check in soon for Spanish adventures.

Gracias!

Sian's little basic Spanish lesson on the crew board.