Posidonia

The lush carpet of a Posidonia prairie in Spain’s Balearic Islands. Photograph: Jeffrey Cardenas

The Spanish Posidonia Police came calling on Flying Fish today. I was happy to see them.

Posidonia is a seagrass species that is endemic to the Mediterranean Sea. Like the turtlegrass of the subtropic Americas and the Caribbean, Posidonia forms large underwater meadows vital to the ecosystem. The aquatic grass has a high carbon absorption capacity. It is said to soak up 15 times more carbon dioxide every year than a similar-sized piece of the Amazon rainforest.1 In 2006, a vast colony of Posidonia was discovered south of Ibiza and is estimated at around 100,000 years old. It may be one of the largest and oldest clonal colonies on Earth.2

Posidonia grows best in clean waters, and its presence is a marker for lack of pollution. It is found only in the Mediterranean Sea, where it is in decline. The UNESCO world heritage site around the Balearic Islands includes about 140,000 acres of Posidonia, which has global significance because of the amount of carbon dioxide it absorbs. The meadows are being threatened by rising temperatures, slowing its growth, as well as damage from anchors.3 The Posidonia meadows of Ibiza are fiercely protected. Drop an anchor on Posidonia, and you are breaking the law.

This is why it astonished me when I watched the superyacht Chuck Taylor drop its anchor in a bed of Posidonia at an anchorage on Mallorca that we were sharing. (I don’t know that it was the shoe guy Chuck Taylor; who would name a boat after themselves?) Nonetheless, I wish the Posidonia Police had been in the bay that day. When Chuck Taylor departed, an entire square yard of the living colony was impaled on the tines of its anchor. 

Granted, anchoring in the Balearic Islands in July and August–especially during this post-lockdown year–is a challenge. Nowhere in the world have I seen so many boats, and so many inconsiderate boat operators, as I have here during the past two months. Because anchorage space is limited, boats battle for every square foot of sea bottom available without Posidonia. Many boats anchor regardless of the protected areas. Bays are so tightly packed that adequate anchor scope for holding is frequently compromised. Two nights ago, at 03:00, katabatic winds ripped through my anchorage at Benirràs, Ibiza, and tore the fleet apart. One sailboat dragging an anchor collided with two other sailboats, pulling their anchors from the bottom and sending them adrift. A boat ended up against a ragged rock wall. Two large powerboats also dragged and collided in the wind. In the darkness, shouts and curses in foreign languages echoed across the anchorage. Flying Fish somehow escaped the carnage, but the Posidonia meadow at Benirràs was most certainly plowed into oblivion by the dragging anchors.

The Posidonia Police encounter a repeat offender in the Illa Sa Conillera marine park who insisted that it was his “right” to drop an anchor anywhere he wanted. Photograph: © Jeffrey Cardenas

The Posidonia meadows are carefully identified on every chart. This morning over coffee, in the lovely anchorage of the Illa Sa Conillera marine park, I was startled by a heated argument coming from two boats. The Posidonia Police had arrived and warned a visiting sailboat owner (for the second time) that he anchored on the protected grass. His anchor was crushing the habitat of plants, fish, and juvenile crustaceans. The sailboat captain maintained it was his “right” to anchor where he wanted. The park ranger explained otherwise. The argument increased in volume and acrimony, and continued for 30 minutes. Then the guilty sailor pointed at me. I was anchored nearby.

The Posidonia Police motored up to Flying Fish with an underwater viewing scope. I passed the inspection; my anchor was embedded in a pocket of sand, where I had carefully placed it when I arrived.

“May I take your photograph,” I asked?

“¿Por qué?” was the reply.

“Because,” I said, “I think what you are doing is important.”

###

Park rangers inspect the placement of the anchor of Flying Fish at Illa Sa Conillera, Ibiza. Photograph: © Jeffrey Cardenas

References:

  1. Ibiza’s Monster Marine Plant, Ibiza Spotlight, 28 May 2006
  2. Oldest living thing on earth’ discovered, Jonathan Pearlman, The Telegraph. 7 February 2012
  3. Posidonia oceanica, Wikipedia

Sailing is not just about the wind and the sea; equally important are the places to which this boat takes me.

Please click Follow at the bottom of this page so that you don’t miss a new update, and please consider sharing this post with others who might enjoy following the voyage of Flying Fish. I welcome your comments. I will always respond to your comment when I have an Internet connection. And I will never share your personal information.

You can follow the daily progress of Flying Fish, boat speed (or lack thereof), and current weather as I sail into the Mediterranean by clicking this satellite uplink: https://forecast.predictwind.com/tracking/display/FlyingfishClick the “Legends and Blogs” box on the right side of the tracking page for en route Passage Notes. 

To see where Flying Fish has sailed since leaving Key West in 2017, click here: https://cruisersat.net/track/Flying%20Fish.

Instagram: FlyingFishSail
Facebook: Jeffrey Cardenas

Text and Photography © Jeffrey Cardenas 2021

Let this be a time of grace and peace in our lives   –Fr. John Baker

Marine Medicine

Are extracts from the Fried Egg Jellyfish a possible cure for breast cancer? Never underestimate the power of life in the ocean. Photography: © Jeffrey Cardenas

Good news from the ocean: Just when you thought it was unsafe to go back into the water… along comes Cotylorhiza tuberculata, commonly known in the Mediterranean as the Fried Egg Jellyfish. There is virtually no sting in its tentacles, and researchers are beginning to study the possibility that specific toxicity from this jellyfish may even eliminate certain breast cancer cells.

In a report from the scientific journal MDPI, “Marine Drugs,” very early studies have shown that elements in Cotylhoriza tuberculata may be a “putative action mechanism for anticancer bioactivity,” selectively killing malignant cells while leaving healthy ones intact.

No one is saying that the Fried Egg Jellyfish cures cancer. Still, additional studies are proposed to further research of its cytotoxicity in targeting breast cancer. The nutraceutical and pharmaceutical potential is also being discussed. The Fried Egg Jellyfish, it seems, may not just be another pretty face in the sea.


Photographs: © Jeffrey Cardenas

Sailing is not just about the wind and the sea; equally important are the places to which this boat takes me.

Please click Follow at the bottom of this page so that you don’t miss a new update, and please consider sharing this post with others who might enjoy following the voyage of Flying Fish. I welcome your comments. I will always respond to your comment when I have an Internet connection. And I will never share your personal information.

You can follow the daily progress of Flying Fish, boat speed (or lack thereof), and current weather as I sail into the Mediterranean by clicking this satellite uplink: https://forecast.predictwind.com/tracking/display/FlyingfishClick the “Legends and Blogs” box on the right side of the tracking page for en route Passage Notes. 

To see where Flying Fish has sailed since leaving Key West in 2017, click here: https://cruisersat.net/track/Flying%20Fish.

Instagram: FlyingFishSail
Facebook: Jeffrey Cardenas

Text and Photography © Jeffrey Cardenas 2021

Let this be a time of grace and peace in our lives   –Fr. John Baker

Octopus’s Garden

An octopus has the highest brain-to-body mass ratio of all invertebrates and a camera-like eye that can distinguish the color and polarization of light. The eye follows me as I swim past. Photograph: © Jeffrey Cardenas

I’d like to be 
Under the sea 
In an octopus’ garden 
In the shade
…”

It seems you can’t swing a cat in the Mediterranean this summer without hitting a movie star. Meet my new neighbor, the Oscar-winning Octopus Teacher. Actually, I’m the new neighbor; the octopus lives here. And this isn’t really the Octopus Teacher (that famous cephalopod lived in South Africa). But here in the Mediterranean, during the summer, everybody is whoever they want to be. No questions asked.

I am who I want to be, and in the summer where I want to be is under the sea. My tropical island blood has finally acclimated to the ambient water temperature at latitude 40° north. In about six weeks, the Mediterranean Sea begins getting cold again. Today is my first dive of the year. “Dive” is an exaggeration. I float in the shallows with a mask and snorkel, and camera. It is otherworldly. There are shrimp and crabs and anemones. The variety of life that lives among the rocks and Poseidon grass in the Mediterranean is astounding. To see these shallows come to life it is only necessary to move slowly and pass over the sea bottom like the shadow of a cloud.

Life underwater is always a surprise. Today I am swimming along part of the Menorca shoreline supported by an antique seawall. Giant blocks were laid here in 1793 to build the Llatzeret, a sanatorium to quarantine patients during the Bubonic Plague. It seems ironic with a history of so much death above at Llatzeret that these rocks in the water below the fortress would support such a thriving community of sea life. It is here I meet my octopus friend.

I am enchanted. From the depth of her cave, she holds her ground by siphoning bursts of water at me and never breaking eye contact. (A note on gender reference: It takes more skill than I have to determine the sex of an octopus but, for personal reasons, I’ll reference this amazing creature as female.) She is confident and beautiful. Her body pulsates and changes color with emotion as we meet eye-to-eye. Nonetheless, it is clear that this is a creature that will not suffer fools gladly. In a Live Science article titled, “Animal Sex: How Octopuses Do It,” writer Joseph Castro says females are the dominant gender. If a male displeases her, she may show her disappointment by eating him alive. He writes, “Mating for males is a dangerous game due to the female’s penchant for cannibalism.”

I’m not here to mate. I’m just as curious as she is.

Friend or foe? With eyes blazing, the octopus leaves her lair to investigate a curious intruder in her territory. Photo: © Jeffrey Cardenas

Much of the circumnavigation of Flying Fish has been along the equator in warm water rich in sea life. The Mediterranean Sea has been less inviting. There were freezing temperatures (literally) in Turkey this past winter. In my boat cabin without heat, I would sleep under quilts and blankets, and a zipped-up down jacket to stay warm. For much of the year, swimming was out of the question. I remember dropping an essential ratchet wrench overboard at a mooring one February morning. The water was only three meters deep. I looked at that wrench under the boat every day for a month, but I could not bear the thought of diving into 57-degree water to retrieve it.

Now it is mid-July. I can swim again. The pleasure of the summer sun warms my skin. The water caresses me as I float with the tide. Below the surface of the water, a new world awaits.

“We would be so happy, you and me
No one there to tell us what to do
I’d like to be under the sea
In an octopus’s garden with you…”

–Octopus’s Garden / The Beatles 1969


Sailing is not just about the wind and the sea; equally important are the places to which this boat takes me.

Please click Follow at the bottom of this page so that you don’t miss a new update, and please consider sharing this post with others who might enjoy following the voyage of Flying Fish. I welcome your comments. I will always respond to your comment when I have an Internet connection. And I will never share your personal information.

You can follow the daily progress of Flying Fish, boat speed (or lack thereof), and current weather as I sail into the Mediterranean by clicking this satellite uplink: https://forecast.predictwind.com/tracking/display/FlyingfishClick the “Legends and Blogs” box on the right side of the tracking page for en route Passage Notes. 

To see where Flying Fish has sailed since leaving Key West in 2017, click here: https://cruisersat.net/track/Flying%20Fish.

Instagram: FlyingFishSail
Facebook: Jeffrey Cardenas

Text and Photography © Jeffrey Cardenas 2021

Let this be a time of grace and peace in our lives   –Fr. John Baker

Casu Marzu

Eating the Rare Sardinian Delicacy of Maggot-Infested Cheese

Cheese aficionados pair maggot-infested casu marzu with traditional carasau bread and a good local red wine such as Cannonau. Lots of Cannonau. Photograph: © Jeffrey Cardenas

In the spirit of, “I may never pass this way again,” I could not leave Sardinia without first having eaten casu marzu–the rare and illegal delicacy of maggot-infested cheese. What could go wrong?

Translation first: Casu marzu in Italian literally means, “putrid, rotten cheese.” The beauty of the Italian language is that it is direct; Italians say exactly what they mean. Casu marzu is not a “fragrant” cheese or a “bold” cheese. Casu marzu is a decomposing cheese. It is crawling with worms. And Italians will risk breaking the law just to get a taste of it.

The creation of a fine casu marzu begins normally enough as a classic sheep’s milk pecorino. Then the process gets a little weird. The cheese is left outside in the heat of summer with part of the rind removed. This attracts the cheese fly, Piophilidae, which can lay more than 500 eggs at one time. The larvae hatch and emerge as translucent white worms eating through the cheese. The process then goes from fermentation to a stage of decomposition, brought about by the acid from the maggots’ digestive system breaking down the cheese fats. The cheese texture becomes soft and creates a weeping liquid called làgrimas–teardrops. By the time it is ready for consumption, a typical casu marzu will contain thousands of maggots.

When I first asked about casu marzu, the local formaggiaio in Carloforte wagged his finger at me and then turned away. A street vendor was more forthcoming. “There is an open market on Wednesday,” he said. “Follow your nose.” At the open market, there were several cheese vendors. One said, in English, “Casu marzu? Of course. We have.” When he showed me the cheese, I asked where the worms were. “Ah,” he said, “the worms were here, but now they have gone away.” Casu marzu is considered by many Sardinians to be unsafe to eat when the maggots in the cheese have died.

Another cheese vendor, working out of the back of a truck, was cautiously watching our exchange. That’s the guy, I thought.

When I asked him for casu marzu he looked to his right, then looked to his left, and said, “Sei la polizia?” I laughed, “Do I look like the police?” He laughed and pulled out a white plastic construction bucket he had hidden under a table near his truck. When he took the towel off the top of the bucket it was filled with wheels of foul-smelling cheese crawling with worms. “I’ll buy a half-kilo,” I said, “but please hold the cheese in your hands so that I can make a photograph.” His face went serious. He shook his head no and then held out his arms with his wrists crossed like he was in handcuffs. “No photo,” he said. “Formaggio, si. Io, no.”

Casu marzu presents an interesting paradox for Italian cheese aficionados. It has been considered illegal by the Italian government since 1962, due to laws that prohibit the consumption of food infected by parasites. Those who sell casu marzu can face fines up to €50,000. European regulators in 2002 reinforced the law making the cheese illegal not only in Italy but also in all the common EU markets. Casu marzu is also illegal in the United States.

The cheese remains a revered delicacy. Despite official health concerns, Sardinians consider casu marzu safe. (Sardinia has the highest percentage of people living to 100 years or beyond. The proportion of centenarians in the population is twice the rate considered normal for the rest of the world.) Also, as a traditional product of Sardinia, it is locally protected, although it still remains available only on the black market. There is, however, a formal proposal pending before the EU to give casu marzu DOP (Protected Designation of Origin) status like other cheeses and fine wines.

So what is it like to eat cheese infested with worms? You had better enjoy eating strong cheese, and cover your eyes. Casu marzu has the taste and texture of aged gorgonzola, but it moves. Writer Kara Goldfarb describes it best:

“When eating the cheese, one is meant to close their eyes. It’s not to avoid looking at the maggots as you eat them but to protect your eyes from them. When bothered, the maggots will jump up, sometimes going as high as six inches. Next tip, it is imperative for one to properly chew and kill the maggots before swallowing. Otherwise, they can live in the body and rip holes through the intestines… The next step is less of a safety precaution and more of a way to just enhance the culinary experience. It’s advised to enjoy the casu marzu with a moistened flatbread. It also pairs well with a glass of strong red wine. Potentially because the two go well together, possibly because of the added liquid courage.”

In the end, being able to taste casu marzu is a cultural experience that I consider a necessity of travel. I remember eating the fruit durian when I was sailing through Sumatra. It smelled like raw sewage but tasted like a rich custard. Years ago, in a no-name restaurant in the Chinese ghetto off Tiananmen Square, I asked for the house specialty and was served a bull’s penis. These are the things that make our journeys rewarding.

Yes, those are maggots crawling out of the cheese… Photograph: © Jeffrey Cardenas

Sources:

“Maggot Cheese,” Gordon Ramsey, https://youtu.be/vZ_-JzM-YQg

Casu Marzu Cheese Is Dangerous, Illegal, And Filled With Maggots,” ATI, Kara Goldfarb

“Cazu Martzu,” Wikipedia

Most Rotten Cheese,” The World’s Worst: A Guide to the Most Disgusting, Hideous, Inept, and Dangerous People, Places, and Things on Earth, Mark Frauenfelder


Sailing is not just about the wind and the sea; equally important are the places to which this boat takes me.

Please click Follow at the bottom of this page so that you don’t miss a new update, and please consider sharing this post with others who might enjoy following the voyage of Flying Fish. I welcome your comments. I will always respond to your comment when I have an Internet connection. And I will never share your personal information.

You can follow the daily progress of Flying Fish, boat speed (or lack thereof), and current weather as I sail into the Mediterranean by clicking this satellite uplink: https://forecast.predictwind.com/tracking/display/FlyingfishClick the “Legends and Blogs” box on the right side of the tracking page for en route Passage Notes. 

To see where Flying Fish has sailed since leaving Key West in 2017, click here: https://cruisersat.net/track/Flying%20Fish.

Instagram: FlyingFishSail
Facebook: Jeffrey Cardenas

Text and Photography © Jeffrey Cardenas 2021

Let this be a time of grace and peace in our lives   –Fr. John Baker

Welcome Aboard, Ginny!

Ginny and I have a history together under sail. As kids, we fell in love with each other on boats. We sailed together in the Bahamas and the Caribbean, from the Azores to Portugal, along the Spanish Mediterranean coastline, and throughout our home waters in the Florida Keys. On a sail back from Bimini, she asked me to marry her… at least that’s the way I remember it. That was 40 years ago. We are celebrating that anniversary in Sardinia aboard Flying Fish.

Our partnership allows great latitude in our lifestyles. Sometimes we only see each other for a few weeks each year. It works for us.

In 1976, Ginny and I were students at the University of Florida when we said our first bon voyage. I was sailing across the Atlantic with my family. My mother and father had a dream to go sailing and sold everything to buy a 43-sloop. With my two sisters and my brother already scattering into the wind, Mom and Dad’s plan brought us all back together. We had a glorious passage from Florida to Europe but the money ran out faster than expected and our family voyage was abbreviated. Mom and Dad left the boat in Spain to go back to work and asked me to help bring it home where it could be sold. Ginny joined me in Alicante for a few months as I waited on a weather window for the return ocean crossing. That summer Ginny and I sailed like pirates through the Mediterranean surviving on young love, mountains of fresh sardines, and bodega wine that we drank from goatskin bags. Ginny was always the responsible party in this partnership and after that summer she returned to school while I continued sailing.

In 1981, we had only been married about a week when I set sail again, this time solo across the Atlantic in my 23-foot sloop Betelgeuse. Ginny met me in Horta and we continued to Portugal together. I sold Betelegeuse in Europe and returned to college where it took me 10 years to earn a four-year degree. I was distracted by saltwater; Ginny, however, was focused and working her way through law school.

Our daughter Lilly was born in 1986. In our connubial re-telling of history, the story once again diverges here but I am fairly certain that my “enthusiastic” operation of an open skiff across rough water, with Ginny late in her pregnancy, induced labor and Lilly ultimately entered our world. She is Capt. Lilly now, a 100-ton USCG-Licensed Master.

While I continued to mess about in boats, Ginny created a notable legal career as a State Prosecutor, a City Attorney, and a brilliant lawyer in private practice. I clearly remember Ginny’s face on the dock in Key West as I departed in Flying Fish in December 2017 on this passage around the world. This wasn’t her dream, but in her eyes I saw her confidence and encouragement of my dream. She has given me a generous gift.

As the voyage of Flying Fish progressed, Ginny and I would rendezvous in ports around the world. We celebrated Christmas together in Panama City with a 2 AM supper in the historic quarter of Casco Viejo. Ginny flew to Tahiti and we swam in the natural aquariums of Moorea. In New Zealand, we sailed and road-tripped, and even worked as grape pickers in a vineyard in exchange for a wine-country lunch and a box of vintage Cabernet. At the end of each visit Ginny would return to Key West to a house, friends, and job she loved–and where a dog was always waiting for her. I would trim the sails aboard Flying Fish and set a course for another distant horizon.

It will be interesting to see how our lives will dovetail once this trip around the globe in Flying Fish comes to an end. I suspect that there will be a period of adjustment, at least for me. But for my wife of 40 years, who always sails through life on an even keel, the potential of stormy weather ahead does not concern her. Ginny is an optimist. She has strength and patience, and we are in it together for the long run.

Ginny Stones, June 2021, at the base of the 15th Century Torre di Porto Giunco overlooking Flying Fish at anchor. Photo: © Jeffrey Cardenas

Sailing is not just about the wind and the sea; equally important are the places to which this boat takes me.

Please click Follow at the bottom of this page so that you don’t miss a new update, and please consider sharing this post with others who might enjoy following the voyage of Flying Fish. I welcome your comments. I will always respond to your comment when I have an Internet connection. And I will never share your personal information.

You can follow the daily progress of Flying Fish, boat speed (or lack thereof), and current weather as I sail into the Mediterranean by clicking this satellite uplink: https://forecast.predictwind.com/tracking/display/FlyingfishClick the “Legends and Blogs” box on the right side of the tracking page for en route Passage Notes. 

To see where Flying Fish has sailed since leaving Key West in 2017, click here: https://cruisersat.net/track/Flying%20Fish.

Instagram: FlyingFishSail
Facebook: Jeffrey Cardenas

Text and Photography © Jeffrey Cardenas 2021

Let this be a time of grace and peace in our lives   –Fr. John Baker