Christmas Holiday

It got colder and darker. We visited Daniel and Emilie in Cambridge. Lived at Queens College for a little over a week and got a vivid impression of the environment and its ability to unite past, present and future. Perhaps best illustrated by the debate event on the topic 'Do social media have a future?' and 'Silver Boars' traditional lodge dinner in the nearly 600-year-old dining hall.

On the shortest day of the year we went on a Christmas holiday in Nice.

Very nice getting an almost two hours longer day and temperatures that felt like summer in the afternoon sun.

We had rented an apartment in Nice. We planned to spend Christmas and New Year here with our children, daughters-in-law and little Augusta.

There are good and cheap train and bus connections between Nice and Menton. The distance is not long. 17 kilometers in straight line. It's a nice bus journey. There are steep climbs with hairpin turns and wide views of the Alps and the Mediterranean. The bus passes through idyllic coastal towns and Monaco. It is a busy route. The trip lasts 1 to 1 1/2 hours depending on the number of stops on the route.

The first day in Nice we took the bus to Menton. The city had changed. The road down to the main street was decorated for Christmas with elegant electric light fixtures, lifelike crib games and winter landscapes with reindeer. Somewhere live sheep walked around the fenced Christmas landscape. We walked through Menton out to Port Garavan. There was just as much life as when we had left town 1 1/2 months ago. Nice to be back.

We embarked on the 600 meter long pier that shields Port Garavan from the Mediterranean. None of the boats we passed seemed to have been damaged during the storm.

From a long distance, we could see that Heron was safe. It was only when we were about to board that we discovered something was wrong.

The aft port cleat was missing. All that was left was a gaping hole.

We boarded and examined the mooringlines. A line on starboard cleat was broken in the storm. By doing so, the pull on the aft port cleat had become so strong that it had been torn out.

In the cabin every thing was fine. But when we opened the door of the engine room, we discovered water.

"What's the first thing you do if you discover water inboard? " a Swedish sailor once asked us.

We must have looked perplexed, because before we answered he delivered the solution "You taste it. If it tastes like fresh water you can take it 'lungt'. If is tastes salty you are 'illa ute'. "

We tasted the water. No doubt. We were 'illa ute'.

We checked all sea valves and hull penetrations. Not so much as a drop of Mediterranean there. Finally, we checked the gasket around the screw shaft. It was as close as Guido had promised it would be when he had replaced it in the spring up in Maastricht.

Check that sea valves and the shaftseal were tight.

The water must have come in, when the waves under the storm hit the 3 meter high concrete wall and flooded the wide pier. From there, it must have flushed over the aft and in through the hole the cleat had left when it had been torn out.

We emptied the engine room for the water. There was a little over 5 liters. The gaping hole we covered with the indispensable heavy gray gaffa tape we have on board in rich quantities.

The boatyard was closed, but in the office a woman was sitting behind a desk. She presented herself in a fairly good English as Barbara, daughter of the owner of the yard and the administrative manager. We showed her photos of the damage and made her promise that her father would look at it when the yard opened after the New Year.

We replaced the broken line, changed the mooring and wrapped a sheet of paper roll around all the sea valves and the shaft seal

Finally we spoke to the harbour master. It was he who had personally changed the moorings after the cleat had been torn out during the storm, he told us in a nearly solemnly tone, and if there were any problems with the insurance, we could refer to him.

Well tired in the evening we took the bus back to Nice.

Nice is the fifth largest city in France and has roughly the same population as Copenhagen. The city is believed to have been founded by the Greeks in the year 350 BC. They named it Nikaia after the goddess Nike. In the early 1800s, Englishmen from the English aristocracy began to spend the winters in Nice. They liked the mild winter climate, which they even thought was good for health. One year, especially many beggars flocked to the city. Some of the Englishmen proposed to provide them with work by constructing a seafront promenade. The proposal was approved and the construction work funded by members of the Church of England. The 7-kilometer-long promenade was named the Promenade des Anglais. (English Promenade).

From today, the Promenade des Anglais is known especially from the massacre on Bastille Day in 2016. It still characterizes the city. Formations of 4 to 6 soldiers patrol with expressionless faces and sharp-edged submachine guns in the throng of people in the old city. One is not for a moment in doubt as to what they will be capable of. But the city almost seems to care. There are musicians, jokers and artists on the street, bustle in the market and lots of life in the many cafes and restaurants.

We had two nice weeks in Nice.

Was at the midnight Mass on Christmas Eve in the Cathedrale Saint Reparata and got a handshake from the Bishop when the Mass was over.  Found villa Nellcôte, where Rolling Stones sought tax haven in 1971 and held the world's longest party (6 months), while recording the album Exile on Mainstreet. Took the bus to Cannes, strolled around the city and drank coffee at a cafe on La Croisette (and yes we forgot to see if there were free berths in the marina.) Bought oysters and champagne for our New Year's Eve. Found a beach in Villefrance-on-and had the first and quite short swimur in the Mediterranean. Was in Monaco and took a ride in the big Ferris wheel.

It was great to rediscover the area with our children, daughters-in-law and Augusta, who got he impression from a carrier on either her father or mother. If she was not in the stroller.

One evening, we got a visit from Sarah and Thijs. They were the ones we had sailed together with on the last leg to the Mediterranean. They had sailed all the way to Greece. Here they had set the boat on the hard for the winter and had flown home to Holland. Now they had come to Nice to visit Sarah's family during the Christmas holidays.

Between Christmas and New Year we went again to the Heron in Port Garavan.

We boarded and and went into the cabin. The paper sheets around the sea cocks in the galley and toilet were all dry

... pew.

Good they were as tight as we had expected

We held our breath and opened the door to the engine room.

... what the F.... .

We were still 'illa ute'

We once again checked the two lake valves and the gasket in the engine compartment.

They were close.

Where the h …. was that water coming from ?

The only explanation was that there had to be a water pocket.

We got Heron to roll a little. And quite right. Now there water was dropping from a bulk head in the engine room. We emptied the water pocket for water.

A few days later we were again in Port Garavan. It had blown well the previous day. So well that a couple of palms were toppled on the Promenade des Anglais.

Heron was laying safely in her berth. Mooring lines and cleats were fine

We went on board. Once again, we held our breath as we opened the hatch to the engine compartment.

It was completely dry

We breathed relieved, arranged a few other things on board and took the bus back to Nice.

The next day we went home to Denmark.