Yesterday marked our arrival in Porto Petro, yet the day unfolded without the leisure for strolls and photo expeditions. As we navigated towards the port, the captain, unfortunately, encountered a head injury – the second instance of such mishap for him, a repeatable misfortune that could have been averted.
The captain had shared his saga upon my initial embarkation on Legato in August. On the stern, two folding seats, lifted and secured with clevis pins, beckoned for convenience. Positioned above cockpit hatches granting access to voluminous lockers, one housing an inflatable life raft and emergency supplies, the other cradling mooring lines – essential ropes for securing the boat during halts.
About a year prior, the captain, in the process of retrieving mooring lines, overlooked the disengagement of the clevis pin securing the seat. A sudden wave tipped the boat, causing the seat to plummet, striking him on the head. Crafted from fiberglass, akin to the hull, it proved to be a substantial, unwieldy obstacle. A natural exchange of energies unfolded, favoring the forehead. Fortuitously, the incident occurred near the port, prompt assistance alleviating the ordeal.
This anecdote had been the captain’s inaugural briefing when Bruno joined us. It was a shared understanding – prior to delving into the lockers, confirm the seat’s secure fastening to avert a collision with one’s forehead. As we approached Mallorca, Porto Petro beckoning, Bruno likely unpacking in Italy, mooring duties now shared between the captain and me, relaxation inadvertently set in.
In the throes of preparation and channel navigation towards the marina, a last-minute recollection seized the captain – an additional mooring line was required, nestled in the locker beneath the seat. Swiftly delving into the locker, he reenacted his ordeal from a year ago! The clevis pin faltered, the seat broke free, colliding with the captain’s forehead. A distressing tableau – a mooring line entwined with a bleeding forehead. Post-securing, hospitalization beckoned. The captain resisted, assuming the cessation of bleeding marked safety, neglecting the need for professional attention. A disparity in opinions arose, and I, adorned with my own forehead stitches from assorted encounters, advocated for caution.
A brief debate ensued, opting to locate the nearest pharmacy before determining whether hydrogen peroxide and a band-aid would suffice or if the emergency room beckoned. The compassionate pharmacist, upon our arrival, urged an immediate hospital visit. A taxi, promised in five minutes, detained us for an hour, an unforeseen temporal labyrinth. Our time in limbo was spent productively – weather checks, passage planning, task delineation for the stopover. The decision crystallized – the captain would mend his forehead at the hospital, while I undertook boat care, including laundry, cleaning, provisioning, and more.
The captain returned with five stitches, adorning his forehead with a star-like pattern, inexplicably stitched with black thread. A laundromat soothed the vessel’s attire, tidying endeavors ensued, and provisions for breakfast were procured. The collective resolution nudged us towards an early dinner in the nearest restaurant, fortifying ourselves for a restful night. Serendipity graced us with an exceptional find – Rafael y Flora Nàutic. The chef’s creation, an epitome of paella, became a culinary ode. A genuine pilgrimage to Mallorca’s shores, solely for this gastronomic masterpiece, seemed a journey worthwhile.
The town of Porto Petro itself tends towards the mundane, devoid of notable attractions. A perusal into Google’s recommendations yielded a flowerbed adorned with a peculiar sculpture – a masterful creation, undoubtedly!
Yet, the surroundings burgeon with spectacular beaches, parklands crisscrossed with trails, and caves leading to the sea, all within walking distance. A brief stroll led me to Caló des Homos Morts beach. Given more time, a visit to San Salvador Castle atop the highest hill, Serra de Llevant, with its panoramic vista of Mallorca, and an exploration of the Dragon Cave in Porto Cristo would have been on the itinerary. Perhaps another time…
Our departure from Portopetro pointed our compass towards the island of Ibiza. Parting from this unparalleled natural beauty was a bittersweet farewell. Opting to spend the remainder of the day anchored in a pristine bay, one of countless along the coast, epitomized a paradisiacal routine. Boaters anchor, revel for a day or two, then sail on to the next – a maritime Eden! The weather bestowed upon us its benevolence, embracing us in a genuine velvet season.
One of the numerous bays of the Mondragón Natural Park, offering views of the beaches Playa de S’Amarador and Cala Mondragó.
The water, akin to steamed milk, captures our senses. In the summer, escaping the tourist throngs proves a challenge. However, at present, pure beauty reigns.
