Burriana Nova

It took a while to write the last epic post, but this one will be brief. In the meantime we have revisited Burriana Nova, which was as deserted as we remembered, the lazy lines were still disgusting and the staff still extremely helpful and efficient. We only stayed one night, setting out for Sant Carles at first light and the marinera came over to help us leave, which is a first for us.

Remembering the difficulty we had finding anywhere to eat without a reservation on our last visit, we headed over to the posh upstairs restaurant and booked a table straight after docking. Mindful of our long journey the following day, we booked our table for nine. There were no other diners at such an early hour. We sat on the balcony overlooking the marina in splendid isolation. A waiter came out with the menus and blenched at the fact we were English. He retreated into the back, but returned without reinforcements and struggled to tell us about the fish of the day. There seemed to be two, both very good. After floundering for an embarrassing time we ordered it, fish of the day, nodding vigorously and pointing, leaving the choice as to which of the two options up to him and the chef. To start we played safe with calamari to share. It was just as well we shared, as when it arrived it was a whole squid the size of a small octopus, chopped into rings and meaty tentacles, all piled artistically on a small platter. The fish turned out to be monkfish served with tempura vegetables. All very fried, but good and crisp. We watched the sun go down as we ate and it was lovely and peaceful, then as darkness fell the Spanish families started pouring in, prams, grannies and all. We decided we had enjoyed the best of the evening, drank our espressos and left the cacophony of the now packed terrace.

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After our early start we made good time under engine and then the wind came up and we were able to sail the rest of the way back to Sant Carles on a fast reach. Remembering that the fish farms marked on the charts no longer exist we cut the corner and were spared the long trawl down the marked channel. We took the sails down just outside, wary of the various dinghies and yachts racing in the lagoon and motored in following the last few channel markers. The marina looked uncomfortably unfamiliar. Possibly because some of the familiar boats are out sailing, possibly because we have not actually come at it from the sea very many times. Still, we found our berth and managed the mooring unaided. Not all the ropes ended up in quite the right places, but the Skipper decided it would do for tonight and we headed for the bar. We were welcomed with open arms. Literally, the waiter shook John’s hand, said he had the look of a man who had been at sea for months and kissed me on both cheeks. Then he brought out two big beers in iced glasses and we sat on the terrace deck looking out over the boats and gardens. Journey’s end.

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