The weekend marked changeover day with the boat charter companies and a couple of large motor cruisers moored opposite us and took on clients. One seemed to be quite an up market set up catering for small groups of people who clearly did not previously know each other. The other seemed to be one twenty something holiday with a group of Spanish lads, who obviously were mates. None of them knew much about boats other than how to pose on them. When they came in the marineras tied them on, but they made no attempt to connect to shore power and soon after let go a couple of the lines and ran the engine. John rejoiced in the hope they were on their way, but no, either they did not have a shore power cable or did not know how to use one and were running the engine to charge the batteries. This is annoyingly noisy in port. Everything they did or failed to do annoyed John. They offended his sensibilities just by being. I found them quite funny, lounging around chatting to each other in what seemed staged groups, some on the upper deck some on the lower, still more on some rattan furniture they had taken off the boat and set out on the pontoon. Had they been wearing woolens rather than shorts and shirts they would have looked to be posing for knitting pattern photographs. Lara barely noticed them, I think she would not have been aware of them at all had it not been for low level rants about them from her Dad. Eventually they set out for the evening and the marineras came back and tied them back on. Then early in the morning they were running the engines again, first at four for an hour, then at six. John went out and exchanged a disgusted look with another chap who was on his own deck for a look. At seven the noise stopped. The lady on Friendship, next door to us, had gone over and complained. They had duly turned the engine off, but retorted that she was a typical German, which upset her. Lara though it more typical that the men had all looked daggers at the youths, but it taken a woman to go over and face them about the problem.

P1130416 Our neighbours on Friendship were lovely. A retired couple, who had owned a berth at San Antoni for sixteen years and could remember when there was no protective harbour wall. They spent most of their time on board below deck. Initially John and I were surprised to overhear the woman speaking German endearments with great warmth and affection until we realized she was talking to their dog, not her husband. The dog is a Dalmatian, bought on the island called Lunar. It is a very apt name. The first time I saw her she was running along the pontoon at night, the moonlight catching the white of her coat, making it glow, the dark spots blending invisible with the night, a phantom on soft feet. The couple are obviously devoted to her, taking her running as they cycle along and going for swimming trips in the dinghy. All three are fit as ticks. Lunar was called out to say hello to Lara on her arrival and stood on deck waving with her owner as we left. They wanted us to stay another day so Lara could go to the opening of one of the clubs, which launched with a hippy fest of sixties and seventies hits, they were sure she would love. We were not so sure and after such a long stay were keen to seek pastures new, so headed out north bound for Portinax.

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