Bad weather building off Águilas sent us running for the nearest tiny, well-protected notch in the coast, which turned out to have exactly two mooring balls and, once we’d picked one up, absolutely nowhere else to be for three days. I do not mind being stuck somewhere. I have been stuck in worse places for considerably longer than three days. But I will note that a crew penned into a small cove with nothing to do develops its own kind of weather, and it is not always calmer than the kind outside.

The generator got its first proper workout on the second day, which I watched with some interest, having spent centuries relying on nothing grander than wind and a favor owed. Tobi and Jo went ashore to explore a cave and a scattering of wildflowers, Jo wanting to pick a bunch for his mother until Tobi talked him out of it: leave them where they are, take a photograph instead, and Anna gets to see them just the same without a single flower having to die for it. Jo took the job seriously after that, marching Tobi from bloom to bloom and directing exactly which ones deserved a picture. For a few hours the whole business of waiting out weather looked almost like a holiday rather than a delay.

On the morning we thought the wind had eased enough, we made a break for open water and lasted perhaps an hour before the sea outside made the decision for us and sent us straight back to the same mooring ball. I will admit to some quiet satisfaction at that. The sea rarely needs my help to make its point, but it is always gratifying to watch it prove one anyway.