My sailing passion. The story of CharterAlia

Hi there! I’m José Ignacio, thanks for following us! In these lines you can read how I made a radical change in my life, learning to sail and pursuing my dreams. I ended up founding CharterAlia and living on a boat without having THE FIRST CLUE!

When I was already carrying almost thirty years on my back, I discovered this new, late passion in my life: sailing. At the time, we were going through a rough patch in the telecommunications company I had founded while finishing my computer science degree. That company was my whole life for 10 years. We were just university kids when we started it up. Despite all the enthusiasm, effort and sacrifice we put into it, it eventually came to a sad end.

Disoriented, discouraged and weighed down by debt, I decided to take a sabbatical year to escape the Matrix and devote myself, body and soul, to learning how to sail and to putting that bitter experience behind me, hoping to leave the bad times in the past. Ever since I was a child I had been drawn to the idea of adventure, freedom and peace I imagined whenever I saw a sailboat gliding “far from the madding crowd.” I had started several sailing books that I never had time to finish. Like the dreams we all carry, the ones we always think we’ll make come true someday, but which gradually get trapped by the inertia of daily routine and the obligations we impose on ourselves, fading away over the course of our lives.

From the very first day I discovered that sailing was extremely addictive, not only because of the direct contact with nature and the sea, but also because of the sheer number of factors at play and, above all, the almost instant feedback you get on your results, since every small adjustment on the boat affects its performance, together with countless external elements. It’s an ideal discipline for self-taught hyperactive Quixote-like dreamers.

But it wasn’t only sailing itself that captivated me — the modus vivendi, the day-to-day of an uncomfortable yet rewarding life on board, was simply perfect for someone with my restless nature. It kept my mind constantly occupied, and therefore free of other negative thoughts. When I finally had a moment to relax, I was so physically and mentally exhausted that all I could think about was sleeping and resting. I had never slept so deeply before, even though I sometimes had the odd nighttime scare with the anchor.

My first sailboat

It was in early 2010 that I decided to stop being a cartographer and become an explorer instead. I had gone out sailing a couple of times for a few hours and it seemed promising. To pay off the debts from my battered company, I had to re-mortgage my house in Granada, and with what little was left over I bought my first sailboat: a small 7-metre sloop, fairly spartan and with very limited living space. I chose this model because it could be transported on a trailer, which I thought would save me the cost of a marina berth. Little by little I fitted it out with the safety and comfort gear I could find at a good price on second-hand websites — all the comfort a 7-metre boat allows, which isn’t much. With a maximum of 50 litres of fresh water in the tanks and no bathroom, you can imagine the tricks I had to pull off just to live somewhat decently. And yet I still remember those first months of the adventure, when I based my learning strategy on trial and error — as foolproof as it was dangerous — with tremendous emotion and fondness. I finally had time to read and learn. I threw myself body and soul into this new project. I read every sailing book that came my way, and above all I kept learning the “theory” through various internet forums. I probably lived through some of the hardest days of my life, but at the same time the most exciting ones, with an almost daily feeling of personal growth and a desire to live and keep moving forward that I had never known before.

All of this proves that stepping out of your comfort zone helps you reach happiness, or at least get closer to it. The cozy armchair at home and a warm blanket are all well and good, but in the medium to long term they make you complacent, and you lose the instinct for self-improvement and problem-solving that we are anthropologically wired for — which traps us in a loop of routine and minor worries that, in the absence of real problems, we end up turning into full-blown nightmares.

From Malaga to Ibiza

In that first year I spent 6 months living aboard the small Iluso. My friend Víctor Roda and I set sail from Caleta de Vélez, in Málaga. My travel companion disembarked in Ibiza after 7 days of sailing and 500 problems on board. After a long and well-deserved rest, I carried on alone, discovering and exploring the rest of the Balearic Islands. I spent a month in Ibiza and was amazed by the waters of Formentera and the ideal sailing and anchoring conditions offered by the Pitiusas Islands — quite unlike the Alboran Sea coast in Andalusia, which offers almost no sheltered cove all the way to Cabo de Gata.

Passage to Mallorca with a rat on board

I had never felt as free as I did within those 7 square metres of boat. From Ibiza I sailed on to Mallorca, on a passage I will always remember. The night before, I had dropped anchor off Tagomago, a tiny island east of Ibiza that is the closest point to Mallorca. It’s a private island owned by a German millionaire who’s fond of celebrity culture and has the island half militarized. Even so, I managed to anchor very close to shore, since it’s a very deep area.

The next morning, while sailing across the Mallorca channel, right in the middle point between Ibiza and Mallorca, close-hauled and comfortable with 14 knots of true wind, I saw a sparrow perched on the bow pulpit. But — a sparrow with a tail? It was a rat!

It turns out that, with no rubbish left on the island, the animal had swum all the way to my boat, probably drawn by the smell of the dinner I’d cooked the night before. I managed to knock it off with the boat hook and it fell into the water belly-up. The poor thing surely drowned, but what other choice did I have? If it had made it inside the boat, I would have been stuck with a permanent stowaway for the rest of the summer.

In Mallorca, rat-free at last, I also took things easy. I sailed around the island twice over the course of a whole month. A beautiful island, but with the dangers of the tramontana, a northerly wind that can give you a hard time even in summer. One night in the bay of Sóller, north of Mallorca, a mini tornado swept through and dragged the anchors of nearly every boat moored in the bay. I wasn’t the only one who spent the night wide awake, and honestly it wasn’t a bad thing to go through a bit of trouble, to start getting used to what awaited me in the Strait of Bonifacio, between Corsica and Sardinia.

Bonifacio is a very tricky area from a nautical point of view, just like the Strait of Gibraltar and almost all straits in general. When the stretch of sea between two landmasses narrows, it produces what’s known as the venturi effect — a funnel the wind has to squeeze through to reach the other side, which makes it accelerate enormously.

The great leap from Mallorca to Sardinia

At the end of July I made the passage from Es Trenc, south of Mallorca, to Cala Tamariglio, in the Capo Caccia natural park, very close to the city of Alghero, in the northwest of Sardinia. It was 3 days and 3 nights out at sea, under every kind of condition — calms, light airs, a few good hours of steady wind, and, worst of all, an intense stormy squall with very harsh winds and lightning that whipped up considerable waves and put me through the worst moments of my life. At around 6:30 am on the second day I heard an enormous crack, followed by an explosion and a blinding light. A bolt of lightning had struck barely 100 metres from my sailboat. I still remember the smell of static electricity in the air, and it still gives me goosebumps. It was pouring rain and I was soaked and freezing. To be honest, I don’t know whether I was shaking from fear or from the cold. I will never forget the image of sitting there, head bowed, as the deluge poured down on me. I was almost paralysed with fear. I watched, dazed and half-hypnotised, as the rainwater ran off my nose onto the teak of the cockpit — first a steady drip, then a continuous stream. Luckily the squall gradually lost strength. I don’t think either the boat or I could have held out much longer. And although the wind died down, it left the sea churned up for the rest of the day. Poor Iluso is only 2,000 kilo and went into full cocktail-shaker mode, which made sailing extremely difficult and life on board almost impossible. On top of that, the boat’s engine is a 9 HP outboard that could barely make headway against the heavy swell, and every time it reached the crest of a wave, the propeller came out of the water and cavitated. To make matters worse, the autopilot wasn’t agile enough to handle those enormous waves, so I was forced to stay at the tiller and steer the boat by hand, unable to let go for even a second to eat, dry off, or take shelter in the cabin.

I’ve never tried hard drugs, but I doubt any artificial substance could produce the extreme high I felt on arriving in Sardinia, after 72 hours with almost no sleep, rest or food since weighing anchor south of Mallorca. I felt like I was FLYING! Despite the exhaustion, I could hardly sleep from the sheer excitement.

Once I had recovered, and feeling stronger for having come through that tough passage, I unleashed all my energy, endlessly fuelled by everything I was experiencing. I explored the whole north of Sardinia, the Emerald Coast, every village, every cove. I would only stop in port for a moment to fill up on water and buy some food, then carry on. I always slept at anchor, off some lonely beach with hardly another boat around, under the stars, with almost no light pollution, studying the nautical chart to plan the next day’s course.

After a few weeks in Sardinia I sailed over to Corsica to pick up some friends. A hard mistral storm was forecast for those days, accelerated by the Strait of Bonifacio. However the storm arrived early and caught me right in the middle of the passage. Another hard day — even though it only lasted a few hours, it was really rough — but I kept learning, getting to know my own limits and the boat’s, experimenting, feeding my constant need for adventure. We spent almost two weeks in Corsica, and before heading back to Sardinia we visited every single one of the little islands that dot the Bonifacio passage between Corsica and Sardinia: from Piantarella in Corsica, we anchored at Cavallo just to eat. We set course for the incredible Lavezzi islands, where we spent an unforgettable night. The next day we carried on to the turquoise lagoon formed between three small islands: Santa Maria, Razzoli and Budelli. And then we sailed on to the famous islands of La Maddalena and Caprera — a paradise far better preserved, from a natural standpoint, than the Balearic Islands, right in the heart of the Mediterranean.

Homecoming with a stop in Menorca and Cabrera

I kept drifting along the coast of Sardinia until, well into September, a run of storms and difficult nights made me realise it was time to head home and put a pause on my adventure. I set course for Menorca, arriving just at the start of a week of what we call the “quince summer” (indian summer)  — a late spell of warm weather. The journey back was far kinder than the one out. In fact there was so little wind that I was forced to run the engine for almost every mile. Sailing under engine is a bit like sex without love — you move forward, but you don’t really feel the magic. It’s nothing compared to sailing on pure sail with a good wind. By then I was completely at one with the boat. Almost five months had passed since I casted off the mooring line at the dock in Caleta de Vélez, Málaga. I was completely in tune with the sea. I felt far more experienced, without any fear, yet without losing my respect for the sea. My sailboat and I were ONE.

By the end of September, as I lost latitude, the daytime temperature improved. I was able to spend most of my time outdoors again, sailing and anchoring in the coves of Menorca. But I couldn’t stay forever. Much to my regret, Menorca was just another stage on my way back to Málaga, and I had to get there before the Azores High lost all its strength and allowed the Atlantic low-pressure systems in, which would bring strong westerly winds right against my course. So from Menorca I hopped over to Mallorca and decided to stop for a night in Cabrera.

A tiny island south of Mallorca that, even after everything I had experienced that summer, struck me as the most magical island of all. The pearl of the Mediterranean. Full of history and better preserved than any other, thanks to having become a natural park, it now requires a special permit to sail and anchor in its waters. Thanks to my precarious but effective internet connection, I managed to arrange the permits from Menorca.

Return to mainland Spain and Malaga

I left Cabrera astern with quite a heavy heart, convinced I’d come back one day with more time, and arrived in Ibiza after 15 hours of sailing. The days were starting to grow shorter, with nightfall before 8 pm. The pleasant evening coolness was turning into real cold, and sailing conditions were getting worse, so after just one night in Ibiza, where I restocked on water and supplies, I carried on towards the island of Portichol, right off Cape Nao, to keep heading south along the Iberian peninsula. I spent two days in the Mar Menor, anchoring in the lee of Isla Perdiguera, another paradise so close by yet so unknown to me until then. I escaped the Mar Menor through the Estacio Channel, under the drawbridge, rounded Cabo de Palos and set course for Cabo de Gata. Those were long days of sailing, with more engine use than I’d have liked — where was true love when you needed it? But I had to cover 50 or 60 miles a day, and the wind kept dropping away during those days. I rounded Gata and decided to put in at the Almería sailing club to meet up with some old school friends who had been following my adeventure. The reunion was very moving, and we thoroughly enjoyed that school get-together after so many years. I was now just two days from my starting point in Caleta de Vélez in Málaga. I tried to make the most of the easterly tailwinds those days and covered the remaining 120 miles under pure sail, without starting the engine for even a minute. What a sail that was! I anchored off the tropical coast of Granada, at La Herradura, and then, already in the province of Málaga, off Maro and Nerja. I was full of mixed feelings, because after six months living on a tiny 7 x 2 metre boat with less than 1.70 metres of headroom, I felt the craziest challenge of my life was coming to an end. On the other hand, I admit that part of me missed the comforts of dry land: endless hot showers, a proper toilet, and unlimited WiFi and electricity.

When I arrived in Málaga I could hardly believe it. I had been through real hardship, but at the same time I had lived the greatest adventure of my life — I had conquered my fears, learned, enjoyed myself, experienced so much and lived life to the fullest. But most importantly, beyond learning to sail and fulfilling a dream, I had grown as a person. My priorities and goals in life had changed radically. At the time I wasn’t quite sure how or in what way, but I was absolutely certain that I could never go back to my old life. I had found the treasure that, in truth, had always been within me — just like the protagonist of The Alchemist.

I survived that winter away from the sea thanks to the “methadone” of the mountains and life in Sierra Nevada, dreaming up new routes to pick up again the following year right where I’d left off. However, a few months later, Ariel — one of the sales reps for the prestigious Lagoon catamaran brand, whom I had met at the Barcelona Boat Show and really hit it off with — called to invite me on my first Atlantic passage. During that year’s boat show, Ariel had sold a large Lagoon 400 catamaran (12 times the size of my little sailboat) and wanted to offer me the chance to help him bring the catamaran under sail from the shipyard, located in Brittany on the Atlantic coast, all the way to Ibiza.

It was a three-week, two-thousand-mile passage in the depths of winter, sailing a direct course to La Coruña, rounding Finisterre and then following the entire coast of Portugal to reach Huelva and cross the Strait of Gibraltar. The rest of the Mediterranean route, from Málaga to Ibiza, was already familiar territory for me.

The first steps into professional life

I happily accepted Ariel’s invitation without a second thought. The harshness of that passage, with huge waves and terrible weather, forged a friendship and a shared set of interests that put me at the helm of one of his catamarans, working as captain in Ibiza the following summer. It brought new adventures and experiences — perhaps more mundane and, in some cases, more trivial than those of the Iluso the year before — but they gave me the seamanship skills and know-how I needed to finally take the plunge, re-re-mortgage my house in Granada (again) , buy Ariel’s own catamaran from him, and lay the first stone of what would eventually become the largest skippered boat rental company in the Balearic islands.

That winter was crucial for several reasons. I knuckled down and obtained the recreational sailing qualifications I was still missing, the necessary courses, practical training and, finally, the professional licence needed to work as a professional captain.

Founding CharterAlia, my boat rental business in Ibiza

I also spent ten to twelve hours a day building the CharterAlia website — the very one you’re reading now. Bit by bit we climbed up Google’s rankings thanks to quality content that sparked the interest of our potential customers and readers. Our strong visibility in search engines meant that other private boat owners, people with sailboats who wanted to offer them for rent in Ibiza but couldn’t find customers, started reaching out to us to manage their sailboats and catamarans. And that’s how we grew, quite quickly, right up to today. Just a few years after deciding to try to turn a dream into reality, we now run a mixed fleet of 45 vessels — combining boats we own with boats under exclusive management — with 20 boats in Ibiza, 15 in Mallorca and 10 in Menorca.

Most importantly, even though I’ve turned a passion into my profession, I still enjoy it just as much as on the very first day whenever I go out sailing with our customers, and I try to pass on that “Iluso” excitement — the thrill of someone doing something for the very first time. I could live in a comfortable apartment in Ibiza and find a nearby office. Instead, I live and have my office set up in one of the cabins of our catamarans, where I still work as captain and hope to keep doing so for many years to come. It’s the best and most rewarding job I’ve ever had. It’s my dream come true.

CharterAlia in the media

At the end of the 2013 season I made this video as a personal thank-you to all our customers. I’ve kept up the tradition every year since. I hope you like it, and who knows — maybe you’ll be the one appearing in next year’s video!

Would you like to be the stars of the next video?