Musings on the Mediterranean Sea
- jderlikowski
- Jan 28
- 5 min read
I have now visited the Mediterranean-bordering countries of France, Italy, Greece, and Spain and explored three islands: Mykonos, Santorini, and Mallorca. A four-hour sailboat ride along Mallorca's coast created a large part of the magic of my fall 2024 trip to Spain. During that brief ride, I immersed myself in the translucent waters of the Mediterranean and watched the sun turn deep gold and tint the water purple as it settled on a spit of land to the west.
The sailboat excursion was, in some respects, a typical tourist outing. My daughters and I found an independent offering from a female captain who owned a renovated antique wooden boat. As I finalized the arrangements through What’s App, she asked, “How did you find me?” I liked having a female captain for this journey with our all-female group. It was a small gesture, but I prefer to support women-owned businesses.
The boat itself has a fascinating history. The llaut, named El Gordito, is a traditional fishing boat with three masts and a lateen sail of the type used in Mallorca and the Balearic Islands for centuries. It was initially built in Mallorca in the early 1900s. Its pine wood dried for three years as part of the construction. The boat has been renovated to maintain its original character and add modern navigation technology. As we headed east, the captain sat in the back and steered with the long pole attached to the rudder. It felt like another time with a slower pace of life.
The captain shared a bit of her story. Her English was strong but had gaps, and my Spanish was extremely limited. Despite the minor language issues, we talked for an hour while my daughters snorkeled nearby. She has two children in college, and she told me about their school choices, which are away from the island, and her visits with them at university. It was interesting to hear a mother navigating this territory alone, similar to my experiences after my husband died. We are an ocean apart, and her career is more colorful than mine was. Still, much is the same with anxieties about children’s choices, friends, and staying connected. She didn’t express it as anxiety, but in relating it to my experience, I thought of it as that.
Our outing began simply by watching the assortment of boats as we trolled slowly through the marina. There were smaller boats than ours, which was about 40 feet long. There were also gargantuan yachts, such as Michael Jordan’s super yacht, which is nearly as long as a football field. And his yacht wasn’t the biggest at the marina. The captain said at first that she felt a little out of place among the yachts, but there were smaller boats as well. I observed that some boats were for fishing, some for sailing, some for leisure, and some were likely for showing off. The various kinds and sizes fit together in the same sea even though they were sorted by size at the marina to ensure the biggest boats had the deepest water slips.
We left the marina and entered the Mediterranean. The water darkened from deep turquoise to navy, the swells began to break, and the water started to churn. We sailed east for an hour or so along the coast in the Bay of Palma de Mallorca. The shoreline gradually shifted from that of a bustling, modern city to a sparsely populated, steep, rocky hillside.
We sailed further out into the Mediterranean, skirting two narrow rocky ridges jutting up as small islands inhabited only by a few seabirds. Then, we rounded the tip of the farthest island into a protected cove between the islands and the shore of Mallorca. Here, the water was shallower but still about 20 feet deep. It was deceptive, looking more like six or eight feet deep, with the sandy bottom readily visible. The color of the water changed as the depth changed, becoming a brilliant turquoise color and eventually a pale, icy-looking translucent color with only the slightest hint of a pistachio ice cream shade of green.
My daughters eagerly jumped in and donned the snorkel gear provided. When I was sure they thought the water was fine, I exited the boat, though somewhat less gracefully. I climbed over the three-step ladder on the side of the boat and then let go, splashing backward into the Mediterranean Sea. Instantly, I realized how cold the water was, though it didn’t seem to have the same effect on my daughters. As I resurfaced immediately and licked my lips, I thought the water was saltier than the ocean waters near Florida. It felt more buoyant, but that may have been my imagination. After absorbing the experience for a short time, I did not think I could adjust to the water temperature, so I climbed back into the boat to warm up. It was October, but I had been told the water stayed warm for a couple of months after the summer.
My daughters explored for an hour, seeing fish with beautiful colors, sea urchins, and sea cucumbers in the shallow area between two small islands sheltering the cove. The area between the islands was a long way from the boat, where they were barely visible. They told me it was shallow enough to sit in the water between the islands. They both tried to get up on the paddleboard before returning to the boat with much splashing and falling. They succeeded briefly, but neither got steady enough to think about paddling.
Once they returned to the boat, our captain served a refreshing tapas spread. It was just what our cold, tired snorkelers needed. Surprisingly, it was one of the best meals we had in Spain. The meal included a standard charcuterie board with Mallorcan sausages, cheeses, walnuts, grapes, crackers, and slices of local brown bread. In addition to that, we enjoyed fresh mozzarella rounds with tomato slices on top, whole fresh figs sliced in half, and fresh zucchini sliced paper-thin, drizzled with olive oil, and sprinkled with nuts, salt, and pepper. It was a feast, and yet everything was fresh and light. It was perfect for the fresh air and stunning sea as the sun began its descent.
The sun sank lower and lower in the sky as we returned to the marina. I wondered how many people had watched that sunset over that same spit of land jutting into the sea. People have visited this island for centuries, perhaps even before the Phoenicians. What was their business there? Most were likely fishing. But some were sailing home from battles or facing battles to come. Others may have been on a trading mission or pirating the traders. A few were likely escaping from persecution.
I enjoy speculating about when women might have been on board sailing vessels. In the days of Troy and Ithaca, located to our west in this same sea, Homer wrote about women captured by enemies and transported on their captors' boats. None would have been the captains of their ships, as our captain was. Until recent times, women were unlikely to sail alone for an adventure, as I was doing with my daughters.
The sun settled on the horizon, splashing gold on the distant dark land. Its rays reflected off the navy blue waters of the Mediterranean, creating a purple sheen on the roiling surface. This was a perfect memory to savor in the future.
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