At 7am

... the genaker shakes, jerks , collapses and falls along the port side. Looking like a smooth silk sheet in the calm seas. Ørnulf, quickly on his feet, up and forward, scoops it all back onto deck. I won't tell that he wasn't hooked onto the boat.
What happened? Later, with daylight, we see that the haljard tore off near the topp. A few inches of rope are still attached to the sail.

A bit of a bother. But glad it didn´t happen over the Atlantic. Now we can repair it before we depart. The halyard was brand-new, used only once before. But obviously not tough enough.

Meanwhile we're approaching still another island of volcanic peaks poking out of the Atlantic. This time it's Tenerife. Pointy, jagged, yellow-brown. Closer it seems to be dotted with grey-green cotton wool. The peaks have spiked some puffy clouds drifting low over the Atlantic, now hovering over the islands. The highest spike, "Teide", is poking its conical head over a fluffy convoluted white collar. To sniff at the weather?

Which is freshening. The waters are choppy as we approach Santa Cruz and the Marina del Atlantico. The entrance is just right of the city's own Sydney Opera House, an organic, shiny white "light-bulb", very visible from the sea. The entrance to the Marina is about a mile along the inside of the harbour wall. There's a large commercial area with ro-ro ferries, bulk carriers, cruise ships. Lots of room, a huge marina right in the center of Sta. Cruz. We tie up next to Norwegian, "Hurra!", an Oslo boat.
Crossing the roads, parking lots, under the motorway, we're suddenly in a big plaza, on the main pedestrian avenue. A good-looking Spanish city. A little walk, some supper, then a good nights' sleep.

Securly tied up in Tenerife.