The weather is due to close in, so we were up early to be sure of making the next leg to Roses, even though it is only a short hop. All was still as we left the pontoon at quarter to seven and made our way out of the harbour. Our course wound round the headland and then turned northwest to the top of a large bay to where Roses lies protected behind a hook of land. We were just about to pass a large group of rocks to port, when we were engulfed in the fishing fleet, whose catch we had so admired yesterday. Fishing boats of all shapes and sizes fanned out behind us, thrashing along as though their livelihoods depended on getting there first. Most passed us to starboard, but one confidently cut between the rocks and us. We were soon wallowing in their massive wakes. At the rocks we turned to port and they had carried on forward, so we hoped that would be our only encounter of the day with them, as threading through a fleet that is fishing is a fraught business. Luckily this turned out to be the case and we had an uneventful motor. At one point the visibility looked a bit murky and John turned the radar on, but that soon burned off. At ten forty five I was fastening lines and fenders, while John idled outside the harbour. Once inside they had us wait by the fuel pontoon and the two marineras arrived in a small van and showed us straight to our berth. The parking went like clockwork, twice now we have arrived and tied up in calm weather. John took me ashore for a slap up lunch, prawn and bacon salad followed by monkfish casserole at Sodmar, a lobster restaurant overlooking the marina. As we were finishing our coffees the wind came up right on cue. We walked back round to Lyra and found her being driven worryingly close to the pontoon. John fastened extra ropes on to stop her slewing sideways and we hung extra fenders on the stern.

That evening after the wind had dropped we loosened the stern lines and pulled forward to tighten up on the lazy lines at the bow. I then reversed back as John retied the stern lines, so the passerelle (posh gangplank) reached to shore again. We are now strung pitch tight between shore and harbour bottom, ready to withstand all blows. We had a ramble through the town. The long sea front skirting the top of the bay, with hotel developments in a ribbon along the beach did not seem as interesting as the streets of shops leading up behind. The prettiest part is the hillside behind the marina, leading up to the old fort. Here lots of little houses and apartment blocks dot the slope between the lush trees. Tomorrow the weather here is due to be good, but it is forecast to be very windy where we plan to go, so we are staying put. We have decided to visit the Fort.