Tropea, Scilla, Siracusa back to Marina di Ragusa

Santa Maria del Isola - Tropea

We arrived at Tropea quite early in the day having left Cetraro just after 2 am having successfully managed to dodge a couple of thunderstorms in the Tyrrhenian sea along the way.  I have a thing about lightning and do whatever I can to avoid it, evidenced by any amount of apps I have that pinpoint strikes. As we bobbed about for a while deciding whether to anchor out or go into the marina we were buzzed by the Guardia di Finanza in a menacing speedboat. They chose the wrong moment and person (not me) as they were told to back off and follow us in if they wanted to see any paperwork. They duly obeyed and hovered around us for ages before they got our documents and then took the best part of an hour to decipher the difference between our surnames and first names. If it were not for the fact that they can cause untold grief one may have made an attempt at more humour.
Tropea held many pleasant memories for us after our last visit almost exactly a year ago and we enjoyed revisiting its picturesque cobbled alleyways at the top of a ridiculous number of steps. I really wanted to go back to the fishing tackle shop and notify the owner that his recommendation of a particular lure, after having ridiculed me for what I had been using, had been useless, as in almost 1800 nautical miles I had caught nothing. Nothing. Ok, so I hadn't put the line out for most of the time, but still, there was no need to poke fun at me. His shop was closed though, probably went out of business,  poetic justice I thought to myself.

Scilla 

Our next stop a few days later was Scilla, which we had tried to visit last year, but were unable to find a spot. We called in advance this time and got just about the last buoy as things were winding down for the end of the season.  We were really glad we were able to stop here as it is a beautiful place. We stayed for a few days avoiding the bad weather that was ahead of us and tried to get the timing right for the Messina Strait this time around. It can go 5.5 knots for or against you if you don't pay attention and last year we had not paid attention.
We then made our way south towards Taormina, but the swell was so huge that we gave up on the idea of anchoring or being on a buoy there and headed on to Riposto which we reached after an eight hour day of rolling seas. The harbour is a combination of derelict pontoons and a quite well organised marina, the former being signs of an ownership dispute and the complexities of local politics about which one tends not to speak too openly in Sicily. This fronting a relatively tourist-free working town with buzzing fish markets, all under Etna's slopes. Etna was quite active last year even causing flights to be cancelled, but it was dormant and barely visible under a table cloth of cloud when we were there. Whereas we turn to the hose to clean our decks after a sandy desert rainfall, the winter liveaboards in Riposto reach for their vacuum cleaners when Etna's ash regularly creates a sooty layer on their boats.

Serious music in Siracusa

The bohemian quarter

Tuna man in Cossack gear

Our luck with the weather persisted and we left for Siracusa, arriving after they had had a week of rain, the very wet kind. The historical centre of Siracusa is on the small island of Ortygia, which is connected to the modern city by two bridges across a narrow canal. It has a very rich history dating back some 2700 years to Greek times and was a powerful city state then as well as the birthplace of Archimedes. It is a beautiful bustling city today with a lively market and lots of tourists. We have visited the market before and made a beeline for our favourite deli to stock up on all sorts of tasty delights. A deli in which you are sure to lose your heart if not your wallet as well. The gradual migration back to winter moorings meant we saw more and more friends along the way and in the Porto Grande in Siracusa. When we arrived Peter from Paikea welcomed us. We were also anchored near Susan and Tom of Sirena as well as Luda and Dave of Bobcat and we met up for a great evening together at a pizzeria under the entrance of the Duomo.

The old and the very old

Our favourite deli

End of season clouds

With only 60 or so nautical miles left to sail back to Marina di Ragusa now, we took our time and stopped off halfway in Portopalo at the south eastern tip of Sicily, and enjoyed a lovely sunset and meal as the sailing season drew to a close.  We had a calm last night at anchor nestled in the small harbour in the company of Dakini who had just sailed a long stretch and What's the Rush who we had been sailing alongside more or less since Amalfi. Next day we tried our best to sail in very light winds and, having time on our side, kept the engine off to enjoy the silence of a gentle, albeit slow sail.  The calm conditions made mooring up a relaxed affair and it was lovely to be greeted by familiar faces on the dock as we came in to our winter mooring on L dock.

Back in time for olive picking

Although the days are shorter now there is still no shortage of sunshine and the beach and outdoors still beckon. We had a relaxed week of preparing the boat for some of the winter tasks ahead interspersed with violin practice (for an upcoming project), olive picking at Giles', as well, of course, catching up with friends and swapping summer stories. I intentionally left our sails on before heading to Menton for two weeks, hoping the weather would be good enough for some extra sailing when we got back, either for a lunch at anchor somewhere along the coast or an excursion to Malta perhaps,  conditions permitting. Someone forgot to warn us that this is addictive.

Next destination, Menton

Rome, Amalfi Coast and Calabria

After an interminable study of the weather and considering every permutation, we left Porto Vecchio and set off for Rome at eight in the morning. The benign conditions soon turned rough and very lumpy with some four to five meter waves breaking on our stern quarter making for a tiring and sleepless crossing. 27 hours later we were glad to be tied up in Porto di Roma situated just a few hundred meters south of the mouth of the Tiber river and on the outskirts of Ostia. The marina is a sprawling place with hundreds and hundreds of boats, yet it looks a little forlorn. The story goes that in 1975 the film director and writer Paolo Pasolini was murdered here in Ostia and his body dumped in wasteland next to where the marina was built. Ostia is still not very salubrious but in contrast the marina staff are very friendly and this provided an excellent stopover for visiting the eternal city as well as Ostia Antica. The centre of Rome is not far by train and Metro and we went in a few times to imbibe the sights and cuisine. Again the experience of the crowds and people hustling to sell you tickets to avoid queues is a novelty I am happy to dispense with. For all that I have travelled, weirdly I have never been to Rome before. Immersing oneself in the scale and significance of the historical buildings and ruins is something to behold and it is not possible to get more than a glimpse of the importance of the place in a few days.  A couple of days turned into a week as we lingered, partly just enjoying the visit and partly waiting for a repair to our mainsail that suffered a touch from the crossing.


The temperature had been dropping steadily and, having seen that only 12 hours sail further south it was a good 7° warmer, we left and headed for the island of Ponza. Probably impossible in August, it was not too busy at all now and we found a calm anchorage just a short dinghy ride from the harbour and centre of the village. Well short dinghy ride assuming your outboard engine is working perfectly - enough said. The island itself is very narrow and a short walk up a steep hill soon takes you to the other side providing spectacular views of colourful cliffs dropping down to glorious beaches. In the peak season these are fed by a constant stream of ferries bringing in mostly Romans who soak up the sun and push up the prices. Nevertheless it remains a picturesque and charming place whose natural beauty is able to successfully shrug off the ill effects of the tourist trade.

Ponza

Ponza anchorage

Deserted beaches

Again we bumped in to cruising friends, Peter and Christene whom we met in Bonifacio and realised we were all headed to Ischia the next morning. The race was on and binoculars out prepared to check exhausts for any signs of cheating. We departed at dawn and my excuse for falling behind is our tonnage and that I was too lazy to take the dinghy out of the water, whereas they have davits and an X Yacht, the latter point being rather an advantage. After several attempts, a few in weeds and one picking up half the bow of a wooden fishing vessel, we anchored south of the castle on the east coast just next to Ischia town. The night ended up being very rocky as if the whole of the bay of Naples was out for revenge, so we gave up on going to Procida and made our way towards Capri.

Ischia anchorage - calm during the day, less so at night!

Our cunning plan was to arrive really early and maximise the time in the marina which we knew to be expensive. The € 230 charge however is strictly for 24 hours which starts at 2pm sharp. Of course we were really early and would have had to bob about in a rough inhospitable sea for over four hours before we could enter the marina. Since that seemed like a stupid idea we pocketed the marina fee and went on to Amalfi. We have only known the Amalfi coast over the years by road and as spectacular as that sight is, it does not compare with the view from the water. The steep cliffs with impossibly perched villages present a truly dramatic vista. Of course for those of us constantly concerned about the weather it also provides the perfect opportunity to say katabatic and anabatic in the same sentence and seem as if you really know what you are talking about. We circled around a bit and looked to see if an anchorage that I had read about was viable. It was not long before we realised it wasn’t and as if by magic Giulio appeared in his red RIB, sidled up to us and asked if we wanted a berth. After a touch of haggling we said yes and, without any further ado, he clipped his dinghy on to our stern, hopped on board and drove us in. What followed was a true masterclass in boat handling. He took us into an impossibly tight spot with no hesitation or even the slightest touching of fenders. Later we witnessed even greater feats when put boats in places no one believed possible. The skippers on the pontoon, jaws dropped, applauded enviously. He, Giulio, took it in his stride of course, his ultra casual attitude only slightly masking him basking in the glory of it all. I got talking to him and he had all sorts of advice for me about my spare outboard engine that I had stripped and whose carburettor I was cleaning. The gist of it was that I should chuck it in a deep section of the harbour and call my insurance. I fear there may be more to his idea than I would care to admit.

Picture

Postcard

Amalfi

Leaving Amalfi a couple of days later, we ventured south into, for us, unexplored territory. There are not many ports of refuge between here and Tropea 130 nm to the south and the ones that are there, do not respond to phone calls or the radio. Given that some silt up badly, some communication would be nice, if not essential. Anyway, we headed for Acciaroli and getting no response at all and after navigating through 70cm of water below the keel we moored up alongside the fuel berth where we were not bothered, except for the fuel man who pointedly said 'do not reverse!' - seems we had already found the deepest part of the harbour. We have a running joke about places that are described as 'gems' in the pilot book, but turn out to be a euphemism for something else, like 'this could be a gem if someone cared', or 'once was a gem but not in living memory', or 'define gem'. Acciaroli, however, 'is a gem'. The buildings are beautiful, it is mostly pedestrianised, has quaint boutiques and restaurants, not a single piece of litter and not a fridge magnet shop in sight. We ate at a lovely restaurant where the menu was simply a basis for one to discuss the construction of a meal. Even the wine list was only a guideline, as the owner having carefully listened to my order of a particular red, brought a white from a different region, because his choice was going to be better. Obviously, it was.

Tight spaces in Amalfi

Accioroli

Scario

Our next two stops were Scario and Cetraro, neither of which we spent much time in as we were aiming to get back to Tropea, and the familiar edginess of Calabria. We last visited almost exactly a year ago and, since it is so famous for its glorious red onions 'Cipolla Rossa di Tropea', I though I might even try onion ice cream this time.

Costa Smeralda and Bonifacio to Porto Vecchio

Porto San Paolo anchorage with Tavolara in the east

As I mentioned in the previous post, I was expecting guests for most of August and this presents a challenge when you try and sneak in some projects and maintenance. Invariably one disassembles more than one needs to, unpacks all the tools and the boat is total carnage in a matter of minutes. Despite many civil discussions on the topic, this is a completely unavoidable way of working, I assure you. So my challenge was getting a few things done and returning it to being inhabitable in time for the arrival of my guests.
Our dear friends Florian, Ulrike and their daughters, who I haven't seen in years, joined me and it instantly felt like it was nearly 30 years ago when we lived and worked in Zurich at the same time. We spent a wonderful week sailing along the Costa Smeralda and enjoying great meals together over stories of past and present adventures. Seldom have we enjoyed so few engine hours, minutes in some cases, as has been the case with this summer. The engine on a sailing yacht is only meant to be an auxiliary aid and you do question what it is all about if you spend too many hours motoring along in a season. Sardinia, in my experience anyway, is worth the time there even just for this reason alone.

One of Florian's precarious shopping trips

Delights of the local market

Ice Cream expedition

Our week sailing and at anchor passed very quickly and it was time for our son Fabian and his five friends to reprise last year's outing. Again the wind was ideal for a week of sometimes relaxed, sometimes sporty sailing. The ginger tablets came out only once but then all found their sea legs quite quickly. I, on the other hand, on a trip to the supermarket, found myself quite wobbly with a touch of land sickness. Small price to pay, I figured. It also struck me that I had been disconnected from shore power for well over a month, with no hint of interruption in the supply of ice. The only challenge, especially with several guests onboard is making sure the water tanks don't run empty. A water maker suddenly does not seem like too much of an indulgence....this might be the second time I mention that.

From this mess

and new bilge pumps

to some sort of order

No sooner had Fabian and crew arrived than they had left, it seemed. Just a few days later Catherine returned from somewhere north, where they have concerts, apparently. Our MdR friends Dave and Annie on Serenity joined us in the bay and just before we set off on the next leg of our journey we all sat out a hefty Maestrale, anchors holding without a problem though. This, Porto San Paolo, remains one of my favourite anchorages. We decided to head towards Corsica and stopped at the Island of Lavezzi before going into Bonifacio.

Bonifacio from the lighthouse

After being at anchor for 6 weeks this visit to a big town (2600 inhabitants) was quite an adjustment. It is a very picturesque place steeped in lots of steps, with a disco next to the marina that keeps precise time, allowing you to know exactly when 3am has arrived. Nevertheless, the novelty took time to wear thin and we stayed on a day longer than Catherine would have liked giving us time to plot our way around increasingly unsettled weather it seemed. Working our way up the east coast we found another beautiful bay, Golfe de Rondinara, that took all that it gave when, in the middle of the night, the swell came in perfectly perpendicular to us as if to check whether you had put all your crockery away properly. We had as it happens, but that does not stop you getting up in the morning with muscle cramps from fighting the rocking for hours and wondering whether you need a dentist to reinsert your fillings. Throwing a kedge anchor to align yourself with the swell is a theory that finds little traction at 2am I have found.

Next morning lots of ash on deck

I passed on sitting on that terrace

Some boats are prettier than others

We left early and sailed with a strong following wind to Porto Vecchio just a few hours north. The bay is an expansive and shallow place with a pretty village perched high on a hill to the west. The very same west that you would expect to be sheltered from when the wind picks up dramatically from that direction. The forecast was for some very gusty days and we spent the first night happily at anchor before we radioed the marina to confirm our telephone conversation about a berth. French can sound very abrupt sometimes especially when greeted with a 'Non, Madame!' and you are forced to make other plans.

Bonifacio cliffs

Well, we knew the holding was good here in thick mud so we got on with it and anchored along with an increasing number of other boats to sit out the storm. We lashed everything down, put the dinghy on deck, dropped the sprayhood and put out all our chain. Our anchor dug in and didn't move an inch, miraculously. The wind came up as predicted and we were subjected to some of the fiercest gusts we have experienced. One of my middle of the night OCD moments to check that all was ok revealed a 50 footer that I had seen anchored several hundred meters upwind of us, dragging and pass us going backwards at some speed not stopping until the unsuspecting skipper belatedly switched on his engine and tried to stop and pick up his anchor. By now he had dragged the best part of five or six hundred meters. Eventually, navigation lights on, he went in search of a new spot to drop his anchor. At some stage he came rather too close for comfort. The skipper of the super-catamaran next to me and I shone our brightest spot lights at him to fend him off. Once he was settled we faintly heard an outboard coming out of the darkness and howling gale. Some of his crew had obviously decided to hit the night life in Porto Vecchio and returning, after 2 am now, to the spot where they expected their boat to be, they were greeted by a dark, windy void. They thought we might be their boat but attempts at talking to them failed as the alcohol seemed to render most European languages, and we tried 4, incomprehensible.

Safe haven with a view

The next morning was spent looking at weather models and deciding on the best time to leave for Rome. The wind was slowly calming down, but the sea was most certainly vicious out there so patience, in these circumstances, becomes the best virtue. We radioed the marina again and this time were able to go in and tie up for a day. Thursday seemed like the day to leave and we busied ourselves with some provisioning and cleaning, before enjoying a fine lunch at a great bistro along the promenade. Porto Vecchio suffered from a reputation of being a seedy, malaria infested place, but this is not at all the case today. It is also a convenient point from which to head to Rome, being 130 nautical miles just about due east, you can't really get lost and assuming you have a nice north easterly and a flat sea... well, again, the theory is sound, but more of that next time.

Alghero to Porto San Paolo

After Bosa we travelled north towards Alghero. This town is remarkable in that Catalan has equal legal status with Italian and a quarter of the population have Algherese Catalan as a mother tongue. My musician friends will probably find it more interesting that Claudio Abbado had a home here and his neighbours were Luigi Nono and Maurizio Pollini. We decided to anchor at Porto Conte though, as it is an excellent spot and ideal for visiting Alghero by bus, leaving the boat safely in the bay and the dinghy at the local pontoon near the bus stop. Alghero is reminiscent of Gallipoli in the bay of Taranto, aside from the fact that Paella is on all the menus and it is heaving with tourists, of course.

The cliffs at Capo Caccia with Neptune's Cave

We enjoyed the sights, sounds and food of the town, but were glad to avoid the hustle and bustle of the harbour at night and be able to return to our anchorage where the water was lovely for swimming and there was only one disco to contend with.

Catapult for warding off Superyachts

Caltagirone tiles again

Bicycle wheels in Alghero

We saw that some weather was coming in, in a number of days and headed on to the north western tip of Sardinia and the island of Asinara. Once a quarantine station for cholera patients and later a maximum security prison island for the Sicilian mafia, it is now a pristine nature reserve. While the exhaustive regulations about anchoring and motoring are not universally adhered to, we are in Italy after all, the result is nevertheless a practically untouched natural setting.

Optimal tourist to beach ratio on Asinara

Our peaceful spot - North Asinara

Deciding that the weather was not best sat out on a buoy though, we made our way to Stintino and found a place in a quaint marina, at the mouth of a river, within delivery distance of a supermarket and with potable water that didn't smell of chlorine. This is another one of those towns that survives to an extent on the Tunny business and all the local delis carry eyewateringly expensive tinned tuna.

No, really! It is that colour.

We had seen an anchorage on our way down to Stintino and we returned to its turquoise carribean-like water for an afternoon and night before we left the west and rounded the top of Sardinia into the Strait of Bonifacio.

An ominous welcome to the Strait of Bonifacio awaited

The name of the Strait of 'Bonifacio' is after Boniface II, Margrave of Tuscany who supressed the Saracens of north Africa in 828 - one notes he did not manage to suppress the confused seas in the straits in any sort of lasting fashion, that would have been more impressive I think.  A very visible memorial on the island of Lavezzi to the 750 sailors who lost their lives when the French frigate La Semillante sank in the Strait in 1855 is a gentle reminder that these waters are not to be messed with and more than a little care is needed. Just before we rounded the northeastern tip and headed toward superyacht central, we sailed to the Isle de Piana at the south coast of Corsica to spend a very nice afternoon and evening with our friends Mark and Amanda from Panacea who had just crossed from Rome.

The next day Porto Liscia gave us a taste of the summer frenzy with the expansive beach playing host to such diverse activities as kite/wind-surfers and a band with an electric violin.  I think the women found him more electric than I did. At sunset it returned to calm and we sat down with chart and pizza and plotted our way along the Costa Smeralda past Palau and Liscia di Vacca to Olbia.

School of wind-surfers

Electric Violinist?

Back to calm

In this narrow waterway between France and Italy the only noticeable presence of officialdom is on the VHF Radio when one overhears the French Coast Guard hailing various superyachts and asking for their last port, destination, ETA and number of crew and guests on board. The best we heard was, in response to that last two points, "12 Crew, 2 guests, Over".

Some must work...while some

try to stand on their heads

Our next main stop and my base for the next several weeks as Catherine went to play in the Salzburg Summer Festival and a quick detour to Lyon with Sir John Eliot Gardiner's band, before she returned, was Mark’s golden tip, Porto San Paolo. It is not really a port as such but rather a glorious bay protected by shallow waters north and south, the mainland on the west and the rocky island of Tavolara to the East. Just a short trip by bus to Olbia airport it proved a very convenient stop for the stream of comings and goings the following weeks. I anchored in barely 4 Meters of crystal clear water providing me with my own private swimming pool. Well, not exactly private given all the locals racing to Tavolara on their 'Cento Cavalli'  (100 horsepower RIBs). Anyway who am I to complain, as I casually furled my red ensign, polished my Italian and pretended at least I was still very much part of Europe.

Porto San Paolo near Olbia