…because it seemed that our driftwood finds would be quickly salvaged. Only the transport from the beach of Camp de Mar on to the waiting furgunetta (a little decrepit pickup) would cost us a little more effort – or so we thought… Keeping the nearest projecting cliff firmly in sight, off we pedalled, true to our motto “some sport every day keeps your worries away”. Second thoughts only appeared when we had reached the little cape and no bay was yet to be seen. The incredulous stares of yacht-owners and slightly higher waves could not really lessen our forward drive since we were the only pedal boat riders enjoying this marvellous view of cliffs 30 to 40 meters high. If only the speed of our pedal-driven plastic vessel had been a little less limited. At last, with a gesture of warning I found exaggerated, a fisherman pointed us back in the right direction. On the return trip we actually saw our original destination, but only out of the corner of an eye.
Realising that this day was as good as done we finally reached our starting beach, exhausted. The last thing we heard, distantly, like through a cloud of cotton wool, was our pedal boat lender’s enquiry how we had liked it … on Ibiza … very funny.
Why I am still happy not to have become a painter – please see my next article…

Oh, here’s a comparison of the distance we covered and the distance to our intended destination, thanks to Google Maps: