Three Stars

How does one earn three Michelin Stars? According to our very knowledgeable server (at Casa Buono - an amazing one star restaurant, if you happen to be in the North Italian town of Trucco), fantastic food will only earn you one star. For the second star, your establishment must provide exceptional service. Only the unique aesthetic appeal of the setting will earn you that final, coveted third star.

With this rating system in mind, we are more than ready to award our three day sailing excursion on the Camino Van Mierlo three ‘Sabin’ stars. It goes without saying that — with Ruth as head chef — we were confident about the food star before boarding, and we were not disappointed. We breakfasted on summer fruits, yogurt and locally sourced honey. On another morning, after a long swim to explore a nearby cove, I climbed back on board to fresh coffee, smoked salmon, sliced avocado & tomatoes, and a freshly baked loaf of Frank’s incredible bread. For dinner, we watched the sun set and the moon rise while dining on spicy fish stew, or steak grilled off the back deck, accompanied by a variety of Ruth’s amazing salads. Frank and Ruth even calmly prepared and served a delicious meal of salmon accompanied by a very satisfying French wine before battening down the hatches and heading to port to escape an ominous and imminent mistral (imagine the Titanic passengers being able to both savor their final meal AND head snugly home). All food and wine, then, was worthy of that first star, although you will need to ask Frank and our other sailing companion, Rob van der Hilst, for vintage details, chosen carefully to accompany each dish and sunset.

Frank worked hard to pull off the second star for service. As noted earlier, he had to weigh our desire to continue our exploration of the many stunning coves of Calanque National Park against the captain’s first priority: to safely return both crew and boat to port. While he responsibly tracked a long and looming storm, we poo pooed the accuracy of the forecast. But his cool head prevailed, and he sailed us safely into the port of Marseille (we will excuse him the minor off color words as his less that seaworthy crew struggled with the lines) a day sooner than expected, but perfectly timed to avoid the dangers of the storm, which unleashed itself just as forecasted the following day.

Frank also had to cajole, persuade, perhaps one might even say press, deck mates Rob and Mike into the challenging (both technically and hygienically) task of trying to remove a hose head that had jammed itself into the output pipe of the wastewater tank (yes, the purpose of that tank is exactly what it sounds like). Think of tv’s “Dirty Jobs” but surrounded by some of the most gorgeous scenery you can imagine. While you might think this minor sanitation hiccup detracted from that service star, Frank’s ingenuity in devising a solution to this engineering challenge, and the teamwork required to pull it off, left all three men feeling quite pleased with the task and its outcome…so star preserved (although Rob remains grateful for the gloves available for his particular role in the job). And, to thank his teammates for all their efforts, Frank not only grilled steaks to perfection, he also entertained us guests by dancing what I think must have been an ancient Dutch sailor’s jig on the aptly named poop deck, under the Mediterranean stars while we feasted on wine and appetizers.  Picture Pinocchio dancing a cross between an Irish clog dance and a Cossack hopak. So a star for a pure variety of services!

Finally, the setting star. We sailed East out of the port of Marseille, where our first sight was the Château d'If as we sailed passed the Île d'If, the looming fortress made infamous as the prison where the Count of Monte Cristo was unjustly incarcerated and sat plotting his revenge ( in the book by Alexander Dumas) to the delight of so many generations of readers. East past the fortress, we sailed alongside impressive and ancient limestone cliffs which weave along the coast, curving inwards every so often to form stunning coves. This area is Calanque National Park, and one of those Calanques, “Cap de Sugiton” became our primary and irresistible resting place (anchoring spot). The water invited lengthy swimming, and every underwater sweep of the eyes revealed fish of a variety of hues and shapes. Rob and Mike even witnessed an enormous Tuna leap and spin out of the water as they sat on deck one morning. The cliffs dipped up and down within the cove to create tiny pebble beaches, inviting outcrops, and outlooks inviting us to climb up and jump off back into the azure water. While some on board remained somewhat fixated on the nude beach alongside our anchorage, I prefer to give our particular setting star to watching the moon rise up and pour its silvery light across the night ocean towards us as we sipped wine.

We hope we have left no doubt as to why Camino Van Mierlo has been awarded its three stars. It was a lovely, lovely experience to be sharing for a few days the wonderful year long sailing adventure of our dear friends and neighbors. Thank you such a fine taste of your belle vie!

I almost lost my foot in Roses. Together with a gold earring, a wooden leg would have nicely completed a traditional pirate look. We arrived in Roses two days before and were sheltering for the 35-knot tramontane, the same northernly wind that the French call mistral. Our boat was well secured, the two large bowlines had been tightened with the winch to keep us away from the quay. They were attached to a heavy chain at the bottom of the harbor. Large metal springs secured the dock lines and were ready to absorb the shock loads. We had two spring lines and an additional line from midships to further steady the boat. When we were ready to leave, we removed all the dock lines except for the one at the starboard stern which we had looped around the boulder and back to the boat. The wind was still blowing but it was forecasted to ease that afternoon. We wanted to make it back to France to meet up with our friends, Mike, Debbie and Rob. I undid one end of the dock line and started hauling the other end to bring everything back onto the boat. At this point our seventeen-ton boat started to move away from the dock, pulled by the taut bowlines and blown sideways by the wind.  As the free end of the dock line was rapidly leaving the stern of pulled around the boulder and back onto the boat by yours truly, the line had wrapped itself completely around my foot. Suddenly, my leg was being pulled overboard through the small hole on the balcony. I lost my balance, panicked and cried out for help. The jolt of adrenaline was massive, the line around my foot was under a lot of tension and it really looked like I was in for a world of hurt. Peachy started to move towards to helm and was moving to throw the engine in reverse. At this point the line slipped off my foot, disaster was narrowly averted. It took a good half an hour and a glass of milk for my heart rate to come back down. 

Watch out where you put your feet and keep track of any lines that must rapidly unfurl. 

The wind did easy and turn at 4 pm as predicted, we motor sailed across the Spanish French border with main, genoa and engine all working together to support a respectable 7.5 knot speed. Shortly after reaching French waters, we met a pod of dolphins. There were around a dozen of them, joyously jumping out of the water and frolicking without a care in the world. We hung around for a while, snapping pictures and enjoying the sight. The most spectacular moments were impossible to capture on camera, unexpectedly a dolphin would jump clear out of the water right next to our boat. What magnificent animals, in all our years of sailing we have never been privy to such a festive, happy moment. 

After our adventurous tour through the Balearic Islands, we headed back to the mainland. Now it was only Ruth and I, so we picked a route that allowed for just day sailing. From Ibiza we made the crossing to Denia, a beautiful modern port. Then we leisurely sailed up the Spanish coast. First, we stopped at Valencia. We took an extra day to visit this spectacular city. In 1957, Valencia experienced a terrible flood that forever changed the city’s relationship with the Turia River. Nearly three quarters of the city was inundated by floodwater and over 60 people lost their lives. The following year, the city embraced a plan to divert the river around its western outskirts to the Mediterranean Sea. The old riverbed was converted to a park giving the city a unique green space right through its center.

In Barcelona we met up with Jaume and Anna, who we knew from Yoko’s yoga class back in Boston. It was also an opportunity to see more of Gaudi’s world-class architecture. 

The Costa Brava is one of Europe’s popular tourist destinations it long beaches, rugged coastlines and charming villages make it a very pleasant place to spend some time. I am writing this from Roses. If the weather allows, we will cross back into France tomorrow.

 At 9:15 am on June 28 Bryan stepped on board, we immediately started the engine and in 15 minutes, we were motoring out of the harbor.  The wind picked up and we unfurled the main and the jib. It was the first time we saw the jib; until now, we have always used the genoa. The jib looked beautiful. With a fresh wind on our beam we were making good time. In general, Camino does better under sail than on the engine. We sailed for more than five hours at times faster than 8 knots. Once Ibiza was in sight the wind died down and we completed the last stretch of our journey on the motor. That night we anchored in Cala Blanco, one of the most beautiful bays of Ibiza. 

I love to swim, and as soon as we were at anchor both Bryan and I dove into the water. It was spectacular, lots of fishes were all around the boat and it was as if we were swimming in an aquarium.  Swimming in the Mediterranean is a special treat, the water is clear, slightly more buoyant than the Atlantic and the perfect temperature. I have jumped off a sailboat literally more than a hundred times and it was always exhilarating. In addition to seeing the fishes, I like to swim the anchor line and confirm that we are properly dug in. 

The next day we wanted to swim to the beach, we had spotted one or two jellyfish, but I figured the ocean was large enough for all of us. Anyway, I was wearing a mask and could just swim around them. Or so I thought. As we came closer to the beach the number of jellyfish increased dramatically. Wherever I looked I saw more, I retreated. I raised my head out of the water to tell Bryan that there were “lots of jellyfish”. Mid-sentence I got stung violently on my left upper arm and again on my hand as I swatted away the attacker. We quickly went back to the boat. Some jellyfish are deadly, these proved to be not so. “Medusa” said the girl at the pharmacy when I showed her my war wounds. She smiled and got me some cream and antihistamine. A new Spanish word that I will definitely remember. 

We did not swim anymore in Cala Blanco, I am happy to report that the bay next door (Puerto San Miguel) had no jellyfish. 

Palma is the capital of the Balearic islands: Menorca, Mallorca and Ibiza. In 1960, around 360,000 visitors visited the islands; by 2024, visitors had risen to 14 million. There is a positive spiral where more money from tourists enables the islands to beautify themselves, which makes them a more attractive destination. Tourism accounts for 75% of the islands’ total economic output. 

People have lived on and fought over these islands for 5,000 years starting with the Phoenicians 3,000 years BC. 

Palma is a beautiful city; its spectacular cathedral was visible from the ocean as we neared the harbor. The harbor of Palma boasts the largest concentration of super yachts in the world. That also means that there is an abundance of qualified technicians and chandleries. This was an excellent place for us to stop and do some maintenance while enjoying the beautiful historic town. 

We are putting the finishing touches on the boat to get it in ship shape. 

Over the five days in Palma, we fixed/improved a number of systems:

1. Replaced the electronics of the wind sensor at the port helm. The boat has three wind displays and now they are all reading the same. 

2. With the help of Toni, a brilliant electrician, we added AIS to the Raymarine plotter next to the chart table. AIS is Automatic Identification System. It transmits a ship's position, heading and speed, so that other ships are aware of its position. The International Maritime Organization requires large ships to broadcast their position with AIS in order to avoid collisions.  At sea, we turn on the AIS and it gives an alarm whenever there is a vessel within a one mile range. 

3. The Fisher Panda Generator has three temperature sensors to measure the exhaust, the engine block and the coolant. The sensors are normally closed and are all in series. If one sensor is too hot, it goes open and the system alarms while the engine shuts down. Of course, a faulty connector will also lead to this alarm since that too creates an open circuit. Daniel, the Fisher Panda tech, replaced the sensor to the coolant and changed the connector to the exhaust sensor. After this upgrade the generator has been running fine and we have additional electricity whenever we want. 

4. I took apart the windlass and gave it its annual maintenance. With the help of a good dollop of marine grease it is now much easier to deploy the anchor chain and we can use gravity rather than wearing down the electrical motor.

5.  I replaced the shower drain pump and installed a new hose. This makes it easier for Ruth to shower on board. 

6. I replaced the LED light in the starboard cabin. 

7. We upgraded the anchor chain snubber and bought a can of zinc spray to galvanize the anchor chain links that had lost their coating.  

“Effort is the one thing that gives meaning to life”, the Stanford psychologist Carol Dweck once wrote. “Effort means you care about something”. 

After a good night sleep, I woke up slightly before 7 am. We were anchored in a small bay a few hours west of Palma. The water was flat calm, soon I was suspended in air as I dove off the side of the boat in the bright blue ocean. While swimming the anchor line, I noticed that the Belgian boat had dropped his anchor right next to ours with almost no chain out. Any serious wind would have blown him straight out of the bay, or worse onto the rocks. We had 45 meters of chain in six meters of water so during the night our boats did not touch. As long as the weather is calm all is good. The Belgian boat obligingly moved over as we hoisted anchor before eight am. 

The wind picked up as we made way towards Palma and we unfurled the Main sail and Genoa.. In a fair breeze we tacked towards Mallorca’s capital. Palma’s harbor boast the largest collection of super-yachts in the world and we had secured a place among them for a mere 150 Euros per night. 

Before docking, we filled up the starboard tank with 88 liters of diesel, confirming that we use 5 liters per hour at our regular cruising speed of 2,000 rpm. In Palma we said goodbye to Phil and Audrey, it was great to have them on board for ten days. That evening we sat across the cathedral, a mere 10-minute walk from our boat, to watch the celebrations of San Juan. A big bonfire and live music brightened the evening. After the sun had set a score of devils came out. With horns and tridents, they breezed fire and danced to the sounds of a dozen drums. After the initial fireballs, the tridents displayed screaming fireworks producing clous of smoke and showers of sparks. 

The spectacular fireworks lasted until midnight. I don’t have the words to describe this spectacle. Somehow; sound, smoke and fire, doesn’t quite capture the epic evening that capped of a day that started with an early morning swim. 

Spain is good to us. 

 Ruth, Audrey and Phil had rented three bicycles and were exploring the island. I was happily writing my log on the boat. It was nice to be at anchor in the most beautiful bay in Minorca. While I was typing away, a bread was baking in the oven and the sweet smell filled the spacious cabin. The wind generator on the back of the boat was producing 160 watts in the 25 knot gusts and solar panels were further charging the batteries. We were producing more power than we needed in these conditions. It was nice to be alone for a while, I enjoyed the peace, the sun and the sounds of the bay. Little did I know that this was all about to change. 

The wind picked up to 30 knots. I just finished my log entries when I noticed that the anchor was slipping. The boat was heading straight for another vessel and a collision was imminent. I was all alone….. Quickly I started the engine and powered the boat forward, now dragging the anchor and forty meters of massive chain in the opposite direction. The forces where enormous and something was bound to break. I engaged the autopilot and tried to undo the bridle on the anchor chain so I could slip out more anchor chain, or alternatively bring the anchor back on board. The forces had bent the latching pin on bridle, and I could not get it off the chain.  With the anchor slowing the boat down, the autopilot could not control the heading and we were once again heading towards other anchored vessels. The windlass locked into place and now I was dealing with three failures all at once. 

At this time, Ruth had finished her 19-mile bike trip and was sitting with our friends at a restaurant overlooking the bay. The bicycle trip had taken them to the light house and back with gorgeous views of the island. As she was enjoying a well-deserved lunch, she noticed the ship was in trouble. 

On one of the other boats, a French captain saw that I was alone, and he jumped in his zodiac and came to help. Shortly thereafter Ruth and Phil showed up, Ruth had convinced the younger people in the sailing school to give them a ride on their RHIB. With the French captain at the helm, Phil and Ruth helped me to sort out the mess at the bow. A little later we had hoisted the anchor on board. It came up with a huge lump of seaweed, some line and lots of mud. Phil cleaned these off the anchor.

Disaster was averted. Phil motored to the first available buoy in our zodiac and handed me the line while Ruth executed a perfect mooring maneuver on the helm. After two hours of excitement and thanks to the help of a stranger and the quick action of my very competent crew, the boat was once again an oasis of calm. 

We picked up Phil and Audrey in Barcelona. Audrey was the smarter fellow MIT student who used to help me with my problem sets. Phil, her husband, is a gifted engineer. They also live in Lexington. Together we had planned to sail to the Balearic Islands, a distance of 140 nautical miles. Now was the time to decide if the weather window was open.  I did plenty of agonizing, asked fellow captains for their advice. Mike counselled caution and warned us about the seas’ state. He painted a picture of large waves slamming us on the beam as we sailed through the night. Mark said that he and his wife would sail given the latest forecast; it was as good as it was going to get for the next few days and at least we would have the wind with us for most of the time. The 20+ knots forecasted winds would make for a sporty crossing as he put it.  After a restless sleep I checked the weather forecast at 6 am on June 12 and we decided to go.

Ruth motored us to the fuel dock, Phil wielded his credit card and filled both diesel reservoirs. 100 liters on starboard and 35 liters on port, we now had 500 liters of diesel on board which gave us a comfortable 500 nautical mile range on the engine. Enough to make it all the way to Africa!

There was no wind as we sailed out of the harbor at 7:30 am. The wind picked up at the end of the morning and at 11 am we were sailing on a broad reach with a reefed main and a full genoa. We were tracking a western course to avoid the big weather system to the east. 

During the afternoon we were back on the engine and the ocean was flat calm. Audrey went below and made us a delicious salad while I barbequed some chicken skewers on the outside grill. It seemed that the reports of high winds and swell were exaggerated and the little wind we had came from the south rather than the forecasted north. 

Audrey cooked us a delicious soup to get us through the night. At six pm we noticed the dark ominous clouds to the north of us.  These were the thunderstorms over Barcelona that had been predicted. The wind turned and started to pick up.  At 8:45 pm we were once again on a broad reach; the wind was gusting to 25 knots. First, we flew a reefed main. I was concerned that the wind would continue to increase and had visions of us turning into a 30-knot wind to further reef in the middle of the night. To get ready for even stronger winds, we furled the main and unfurled our genoa. The 30-knot wind did not come, and shortly after 10 pm, the wind died down and we were back on the engine. 

It was getting dark and at the stern of the boat we could see fluorescent light bulbs in the water. It was probably the Pelagia Noctiluca, a luminescent jelly fish. The enormous quantity of these animals was stunning. Every few seconds another green light emerged in our wake. It was a wonderous sight. There is something magical about sailing through the night, out of sight of land, under the stars. The vastness of it all highlights our insignificance and still, as we kept our course, we proved our ability, our mastery of the sea, quietly strengthening our self-esteem. 

Throughout the night we changed course four times to avoid other ships. Each time we cautiously stayed more than a mile away. Phil was awake the entire night, I took some catnaps on the bench outside, and he would wake me up each time there was a vessel in sight. We had good visibility which was further enhanced by the radar system with a 4-mile range. Every time we saw one of the large boats, it was a bit of a puzzle to figure out their direction so we could safely steer to their stern. One time, we decided to pass in front because it was fishing vessel that was dragging a long net, or at least there was a flashing light a third of a mile behind their stern.  The newly installed turbo proved its mettle as we increased our speed.  

At sunrise we arrived in Minorca, the red colors in the east were spectacular. Somehow, that never gets old. We entered the Bay of Fornells that Nick had told us about back in Marseilles.  It was every bit as beautiful as he had described. Passing all the buoys, we anchored with 40 meters of chain in seven meters of water. In less than 24 hours we had crossed half the Mediterranean. At 8 am, all of us were fast asleep. 

 After we arrived in Roses the wind unexpectedly started blowing. Suddenly we had force 7 wind and several of the boats that were anchored outside the harbor had to come in.  It was disconcerting that none of the forecasting models predicted this.  What if we were seventy miles offshore and we got caught in a gale? Although the boat can certainly handle more, I want to be off the water when there is more than 30 knots of wind.  There is no need to unnecessarily stress people and equipment. But it is only possible to stick to that policy if there is a reliable wind forecast. 

Roses is right at the edge of a weather system that is blowing forty knots in France and a slight movement of the boundary changes the wind by 30 knots. This makes it difficult to make any decisions, and as a captain, I agonize over the weather. Do we sail, or don’t we? 

Today, the weather is still way too unpredictable, perhaps AI will help us to improve our forecasts over the next decade.