I’m still in bed when Greg starts hauling up the anchor at seven in the morning. Not long after, I’m woken by the beeping of the engine and the rattling of the chain. Finn snuggles closer to me and hides behind a cushion. I jump out of bed and ask why we’re leaving so early. Greg just shrugs: he’d been awake for a while, didn’t know what else to do, so he figured, why not head for Marsaxlokk already? The passage is about 17 miles, but there isn’t a breath of wind. The sea is flat as glass and the heat is relentless. As soon as we approach the industrial harbour, we know we’re almost there. The fishing village of Marsaxlokk is tucked away behind this industrial area. The anchorage isn’t exactly pretty, but according to the reviews the village is worth visiting. Getting the anchor to hold, however, turns out to be a real challenge. The first time it lands between flat rocks, dangerously close to a shallow. The second time I think we’re too close to our French neighbors. The third time the anchor refuses to dig in. The fourth time we end up too close to a quay where big tugboats dock. Finally, on the fifth attempt, it holds more or less. Still, we’re right in front of the quay, staring at three ugly smokestacks. We decide not to stay. After a quick visit to an overpriced Spar supermarket and a fantastic fish shop, we pick up the anchor again and move to the bay around the corner. Much prettier, much calmer. I dive straight into the water. The temperature shifts dramatically: warm on the surface, icy cold as soon as I dive deeper. In the evening, we set ourselves up on deck to watch the Perseid meteor shower. Unfortunately, the industrial glow in the distance creates too much light pollution. We only catch a few shooting stars. The cats, on the other hand, love having us out there; they’re thrilled to lie up front on deck with us. Greg heads to bed, while I stay a little longer with Nelly. Half an hour later I wake up, still lying there with her beside me. I pick her up and we head inside together. The next morning I can feel right away it’s going to be another scorching day. I jump into the water first thing and scrub the side of the boat a little. I keep wondering where those black streaks and little scratches have come from. The swim barely cools me down. In the meantime, we discover our SUP has developed a big bubble, like a paint blister. I don’t dare use it, afraid it might give out. Thankfully, the SUP itself isn’t damaged, the blister is only in the top layer. What a relief!

We leave Gozo behind and set course for Malta. The sea is flat as a mirror, so before long we pack away the sails and continue under motor. It’s Sunday, and we notice it right away: the bay where we want to anchor is packed. Still, we manage to find a spot and, surprisingly, the bustle doesn’t bother us here at all. Everyone is just enjoying themselves in their own way. Some boats are rafted up ten deep, simply sharing food, chatting and having fun together. We slip into the same relaxed rhythm: a bit of swimming, a bit of lazing around on board, there isn’t much else to do in this heat anyway. Just before sunset, we take the dinghy out for a ride. In the rocks we spot little beach huts, where families gather to eat, swim, and talk together. It feels so Mediterranean, almost like stepping into a postcard. On the sandstone-colored cliffs, people are climbing up, and soon it becomes clear why: the sun is setting. The sky turns completely pink, and we float quietly in our dinghy, both mesmerized by the view. The following evening we head out on foot. We hike over the sandstone cliffs and test our drone again. To our delight, it works just as before. Hooray! For now, though, we’ll only launch it over land. I’m not ready to risk flying it over water yet. In truth, the drone feels almost unnecessary, since the view from the cliffs is already phenomenal. The path climbs steeply, and at times we nearly slip, but the effort is worth it. From the top we continue through forests and a desolate landscape that reminds us of Iceland. When we return to the quay, families are unfolding tables and lighting up barbecues, a wonderful sight. As the sun sets, we take the dinghy back to our boat, make homemade pizzas in our little oven, and end the evening with a game of Catan, the dice version.

The sea is choppy, but seven miles later we’re anchored in the crater-like bay of Dwejra or Saint Lawrence, with the impressive Fungus Rock right beside us. Finding a good spot to drop anchor is a bit of a challenge: the seabed is covered in rocks and posidonia, with only the occasional patch of sand. After a few attempts and some frustrated shouting at each other, our anchor finally holds. The bay is absolutely stunning. Gozo keeps surprising us. For me, this is already the most beautiful anchorage we’ve ever stayed at. Towering cliffs almost completely surround us, and everywhere we look are inlets with mysterious caves. In the late afternoon, a 33-meter sailing yacht, PIAFFE DOS, drops anchor right next to us. Normally yachts of that size anchor farther away from smaller boats, but in this bay it’s impossible. An impressive ship indeed! With snorkel and fins, I dive into the water. Once again, it’s a beautiful snorkeling spot. I swim up to the caves, push aside my fears and venture into the dark water. No moray eels or other creepy sea creatures spotted (thankfully), but it feels pretty special to snorkel inside a cave. In the evening, we witness the most spectacular sunset we’ve ever seen. Just through a small opening in Fungus Rock, the sun peeks out one last time. Breathtaking! It felt like the whole bay fell silent for a moment. That night, I wake up to strange bird sounds. Luckily, we had read about this in the Navily reviews, otherwise I would have been completely puzzled. I had no idea shearwaters (birds) could make such bizarre noises. Even Finn looks surprised. Strangely, you don’t see many “regular” gulls here. Greg looked it up: apparently, people in Malta have a long history of hunting birds. Poor Finn, he doesn’t like the Maltese islands much anyway. I crawl back into bed and enjoy a night without swell. Wonderfully peaceful! The next day, we head out for a walk despite the heat. We easily park the dinghy and climb up, first to the Inland Sea (a small inlet of seawater that you reach through a cave) and then on to the village of San Lawrenz. There, preparations for the festa are in full swing: enormous flags already wave proudly in the wind. We stop for a bite at Ta’Dbiegi Cafeteria (a Ftira, a local specialty, and a salmon sandwich) and wander through the craft village. After a quick supermarket stop for fruit, we brave the heat on the way back, ending the day with a cozy barbecue, the second in a row. The following day I don’t feel so great, so I sleep a lot. It’s the weekend, so the bay is quite busy. Meanwhile, Greg is tinkering with our drone. With little hope, we press the start button… and to our surprise, we hear the familiar start-up sound and see the lights flashing. It’s alive! There’s still an error with the back vision sensor, but Greg quickly fixes it. We still have to test it in flight, but this already feels like a small victory. That evening, the loud fireworks of the San Lawrenz festa dominate the soundscape. Nelly hates it, but Finn doesn’t seem too bothered. The next morning, our anchor, slightly wedged between some rocks, comes up without any trouble. Time to set off for the next beautiful bay.

In the morning Greg goes to get diesel and discovers that the bay around the corner is a bit calmer. Fewer small boats pass right next to you; only the big ferries come by, but they slow down on arrival and don’t create a disturbing wake. As soon as Greg is back, we lift the anchor and move over. It’s only half a mile away, so within a few minutes we’re dropping the anchor again. With the dinghy we head ashore and leave our little boat between the fishing boats in the harbor. Taking a small detour, we walk to the supermarket. On the way we pass a replica of Bethlehem. Apparently, it’s a popular attraction at Christmas, but now it looks rather deserted. The houses could use a coat of paint, and the outdoor lighting has clearly seen better days. Still, there are animals in the cages—ducks, chickens, turkeys and peacocks—that look surprisingly well cared for. After that we continue on to Għajnsielem and step into Ta’ Dirjanu, a larger supermarket nearby. It’s always fun to see what’s on the shelves in a country new to us. Right away we notice how many British products they sell. Not so surprising, since Malta was under British rule until 1964. It also explains why people drive on the left here. On the way back to the dinghy, we’re surprised to see horses in the water by the harbor. Later I find out that this is a local tradition, not only to cool the animals down, but also because it’s good for their joints and hooves. The next morning I get up at sunrise to take drone shots. Everything goes well until landing. While I’ve already positioned the drone above the solar panel, our landing platform, it suddenly switches to “auto land,” moves two meters backward, and plunges straight into the water. I try to regain control, but in vain. Without hesitation, I dive in after it and bring it up from eight meters deep. Greg immediately takes it apart and rinses the inside with distilled water and alcohol. Then we leave it to dry, though we don’t have much hope it will recover. Not wanting to let this spoil our day, we take the bus to Victoria (Ir-Rabat), the capital of Gozo. What a surprise: narrow streets, charming little shops, and a wonderful restaurant, Roża. Greg orders the rabbit stew, I go for a summery salad with burrata, fruit, and asparagus, and together we share sweet potato fries. Highly recommended! In the afternoon we visit the citadel, an impressive fortress towering high above the city. We wander through the Archaeology Museum, Folklore Museum, Natural History Museum, Cathedral Museum, and the Old Prison. You could easily spend hours here. After a surprisingly lovely day, we take the bus back to our anchorage. Tomorrow, we plan to sail across to the Blue Lagoon. From afar, we can already see dozens of boats. Some tied to the rocks, others anchored, and many circling around in search of a free spot, just like us. At the Blue Lagoon, where we initially wanted to stay, we quickly give up: far too crowded. Not surprising though, the surroundings are breathtaking. Towering cliffs, carved with both small and large caves, rise dramatically above us. We try the other side, past the swimming buoys. And yes, there it is, an open spot waiting for us. We drop anchor just outside the buoys, where the commercial boats are allowed, and secure ourselves with a line to the rocks. It’s hectic here, almost like being in a theme park. Boats of all sizes shuttle people back and forth or stop for a swim. For one night, we can handle it. In fact, it even gives us an unexpected holiday vibe. At first, I wonder why this place is so incredibly popular. But the moment I dive into the water, I understand. Crystal-clear blue, teeming with fish, and perfect for snorkeling. The sunlight dances across the sandy bottom, creating the most beautiful patterns. We snorkel to a small beach and come across a tunnel that people swim through. Too busy for us, but it’s easy to see why this little island, Comino, is overrun with visitors. After our swim, we wave down the ice cream boat and I enjoy a Ben & Jerry’s cookie dough back on board. Strange to say after three years of living at sea, but that day truly felt like a vacation, just joining in with the rest. Right before sunset, we take our dinghy out and explore the countless tunnels and caves nearby. At night, the bay turns surprisingly quiet. Except for one small motorboat, we’re completely alone. And in the morning, before the crowds return, we lift our anchor and set off again.

Because there were too many waves in the previous bay, we’ve moved to this one. We drop anchor among a row of small motorboats, all tied to their mooring buoys. Onshore, the place is buzzing: teenagers leap from the quay into the water, tourist boats to the Blue Lagoon pass by several times an hour, and everywhere people are seeking relief in the cool water. After our long journey, we lounge lazily in the cockpit today, letting the bustle drift past us. In the evening, we’re treated to a fireworks show. In fact, the festivities begin already in the early afternoon, with loud bangs echoing across the water. It turns out there’s a festa here: each village competes for the most beautiful decorations and the most impressive fireworks. Thankfully, peace returns in time for us to enjoy a good night’s sleep.

At 3 PM, we lift the anchor in Poetto and head off to Malta, super excited. It’s a 320-mile sail to a brand-new country for us. The fridge and cupboards are packed with Italian treats, and the weather forecast looks great. The first few miles go smoothly. The waves start building slowly, but they’re coming from behind, so it’s not too bad. They are pretty tall though, way higher than we expected. We keep sailing under the headsail and set up the wind vane. Greg tries to set up the spinnaker pole with the headsail, but it all goes completely wrong. One of our windows nearly gets smashed and his hand ends up bleeding. Bad idea. We stash the pole away quickly and move on. By evening, our little oven comes to the rescue. We heat up the frozen pizzas we bought for the trip. With this kind of swell, cooking anything else would be a nightmare. Around sunset, rogue waves start hitting us. Most waves still come from behind, but once in a while a set rolls in that throws the boat in every direction. And they are huge. Some even crash above the cockpit. Definitely not in the forecast. And the wind? Supposed to be 15 knots, but it’s blowing 20 to 25 instead. At 9 PM, my watch starts. I crawl into my sleeping bag. It’s so cold with all the wind blowing in the cockpit. It gets dark fast, and the sound of those big waves crashing around is honestly kind of scary. Just before midnight, as I’m about to switch with Greg, a wave smashes into the cockpit. Luckily, we had the doors closed. Sleeping is nearly impossible. Cat food is flying everywhere, fruit is falling out of the nets, and inside the boat it’s a total mess. We’re shouting at each other out of frustration. You can barely walk straight with the swell throwing you around. At 3 AM, I’m on watch again. The floor is covered in dirt from the plants, which are getting tossed all over the cockpit. I just sit there, miserable, in my sleeping bag and life vest, thinking, “We’ll deal with this tomorrow.” This is not the trip I imagined. I try to nap in fifteen-minute chunks but get slammed into the cockpit floor six times. So annoying. At 6 AM, I finally crawl into bed, but I hardly sleep. By 9 AM, I give up and start cleaning. I find safer spots for the plants and scrub the floor with the deck pump. Much better. I try to make things a bit less chaotic inside too, which is still tough with the swell, but I manage. All day, we feel like zombies. Every time we do something inside—brushing teeth, using the toilet—we come out nauseous. We try to nap as much as possible, but even that doesn’t work. Even Greg feels seasick, which is a first. Luckily, the wind and swell calm down a bit in the evening. For the first time in a while, we can walk around the boat without being slammed into something. During my night watch, Greg sticks his head out the hatch to tell me Finn peed in our bed. Poor cat. After two days of camping on our bed, terrified of the waves and with the carrier ready just in case, he couldn’t hold it anymore. I saw it coming. I even tried putting him in the litter box earlier, but he just panicked and ran back to bed. Day 3 starts with laundry and trying to air out the mattress. The whole boat smells like cat pee. We fire up the watermaker and toss the sheets one by one into our mini washing machine. Greg hoists the parasailor. From a distance, we must look hilarious—blue sail up front, sheets flapping all over the deck. And finally, a dolphin shows up. Just one, but it’s massive and swims alongside our bow for a few minutes. That little visit honestly made the whole day better. We’ve actually been able to sail most of the time on this trip. The engine only runs now and then, and only for short stretches. On day 4, Greg nearly gets hit by one of those super fast ferries that go 30 knots. The AIS was working, but didn’t show its speed correctly, so we had no idea what it was doing. It ended up passing just 200 meters in front of us. Later that day, we change the plan. We’re supposed to arrive in the middle of the night, and that doesn’t sound fun. So we look for a safe bay to anchor in. We charge up our flashlights and get ready for a night-time anchoring job. Finally, at 2 AM, after dodging a bunch of fishing buoys, we drop the anchor. According to the chart, it’s a beautiful bay, but we can’t see anything. It’s pitch black. Apart from a single anchor light and a campfire on the beach, it’s total darkness. What a wild trip. We crawl into bed, exhausted but happy. We made it. What a relief.

Nothing special to report. After leaving Pula because of the swell, we’re now fairly well sheltered here. There’s quite a bit of wind in the forecast over the next few days, but as long as the waves stay down, it’s all fine. There’s some kind of street food festival going on. We walk around a bit, but we’ve seen enough after a few minutes. Poetto is a convenient spot to stock up before heading to Malta. We’re loading up on Italian goodies like my favorite drinks Esta Té and Lemon Soda, and the many kinds of cookies you see everywhere here. We do some chores and get the boat ready for the crossing. We improve the setup of the wind vane lines, check the diesel, bilge and engine, and do a thorough navigation planning. In the late afternoon on Wednesday, July 30, we say goodbye to Oriane and Eliseo from Bee Sailing, lift the anchor and set course for Malta.

The persistent swell and the fact that we are not allowed to leave our dinghy on the beach make us decide to move on. We quickly prepare the boat for sailing, pull the dinghy onto the deck and lift the anchor. At first, we plan to sail back to Poetto. Along the way, we chat with Oriane and Eliseo from Bee Sailing and learn that they are anchored in the bay near Pula. We decide to change course. The sea is rough, with large waves, and we are not sure whether we will even make it into the bay. Now and then, waves crash over the deck. Despite the conditions, the sailing is surprisingly comfortable. Only one particularly mean wave causes trouble when it knocks over Greg’s freshly brewed coffee. The floor is covered in coffee and grounds. Later in the afternoon, the wind drops completely and the sea turns into a mirror. The sun slowly disappears behind the mountains, painting the sky in spectacular colours. We drop anchor next to Bee Sailing and unwind in the cockpit. Pula turns out to be a nice place. We are able to pull the dinghy up onto the beach and walk into the nearby village. Of course, we do this right in the middle of the afternoon, when everything is closed and the heat is relentless. We never seem to learn. We do some shopping and Greg is happy, as he has been wanting to cook Belgian beef stew for a while. Tonight, it is finally on the menu. We have been waiting for a package for quite some time, and I finally receive a message saying it has been delivered. So I take the bus to Cagliari, which is about an hour away. Getting a bus ticket is easy with the DropTicket app, and the Arst Finder app helps me check the route and departure times without any hassle. Very convenient. On the way, we pass a lagoon filled with hundreds of flamingos. I am not exaggerating. It is such a cool sight! I really enjoy my time in Cagliari. Sometimes it feels good to have a little time for yourself. I collect the package, wander through the city, step into a few charming little shops and relax at a café with a cappuccino and a cream-filled cannoli. Life is good in Cagliari. For lunch, I order a pizza along with an Aperol Spritz and a Lemon Soda. It could hardly be more Italian. After one in the afternoon, most of the shops close, so I make my way to the botanical garden. The entrance fee is six euros, but the garden is spacious and surprisingly varied. There is a Roman cave, several greenhouses, an ancient water cistern and many unusual plants to discover. It is a great place to find some shade during the hottest part of the day. After my visit, I take the bus back toward Pula. The walk from the bus stop to the beach takes at least another thirty minutes. With a heavy backpack and the intense heat, it is quite a challenge. Thankfully, I can jump into the refreshing water once I arrive. That evening, we are invited by B Caramel, a Swiss couple who are exploring the Mediterranean with their child. Oriane and Eliseo are there as well. We grill all sorts of delicious food and enjoy a fun evening together. During the night, the swell becomes uncomfortable again and sleep is nearly impossible. The next morning, around seven, we decide to leave. We start the engine, lift the anchor and head out of Pula. Most of the other boats have already departed. It seems like nobody got much sleep that night.

We hoist the anchor and sail out of the bay. It’s a bit nerve-racking to maneuver between the anchored boats without using the engine, but it goes well. It looks like it will be another warm day, but the clear blue water makes up for it. After our sail, we’ll be able to jump in and cool off. While we’re underway, Greg starts baking a whole wheat yeast bread, which he puts in the oven a few miles before we arrive. When we finally drop anchor, the whole boat smells like fresh bread. It feels like we’ve become a little bakery on the water. We tidy up, take a refreshing swim and light the barbecue. The next day we take out the sewing machine to finish our curtains. I chose a warm orange fabric that fits perfectly with the wooden interior. It helps keep most of the heat outside. We had already made window covers that could be inserted into the windows, but they kept falling down. It was definitely time for a replacement. On July 20 we lift the anchor again and set course for Pula, where our sailing friends Oriane and Eliseo are staying. So we’re heading a bit west again.

There are already some pretty big waves rolling into the bay, and the forecast says it’s only going to get rougher. So, we lift anchor early to stay ahead of it. The 4.5-mile trip turns out to be tougher than expected. Waves slam into the bow and toss us in every direction. Anything not tied down ends up on the floor. Note to self: even for the shortest trip, make sure everything is secured. The Guardia di Finanza speeds past at full throttle, kicking up even more waves. Much appreciated! Though to be fair, they did actually wave, which isn’t always the case. Sometimes they just glare at you, or as I’ve experienced before, ask for your papers the moment you wave at them. We drop anchor again in that familiar milky-blue water. Going ashore isn’t an option here; the coastline is packed with private beaches and lidos. From experience, we know they don’t appreciate it when you leave your dinghy on the beach. Best case, you get politely asked to leave. Worst case, they just chase you off. With gusts up to 30 knots, we wouldn’t leave the boat anyway. Around us, inflatable mattresses are flying off into the open sea… After two days, we’re ready to move on. The wind has finally calmed down, and we sail out of the anchorage.