Villasimius to Bosa

This was our first experience of Sardinia and you can't help but be taken aback by the natural beauty of the island. It is a gentler, greener and calmer place than Sicily with its complex and multifaceted history not reflected in the architecture to the same extent that Sicily's is. The Nuraghi, the ancient towers, are just about the only signs of antiquity. Well, from the vantage point of the sea in any event. The water really is as clean as it looks and if it wasn't for the fact that it is salty you would certainly want to drink it. The beautiful estuary at Villasimius with its flamingoes and white beaches are seemingly immune from tourist saturation and we got lost in time here for several days before we had to move on to Capitana, which is on the outskirts of Cagliari.

As coincidence would have it my oldest friend, Gerard Korsten, was in Cagliari conducting concerts and an opera at the Teatro Lirico at the same time, so in and around his schedule we spent many hours reviewing Sardinian wines and cuisine. I am happy to report that both are in the best of health. It was also his opportunity to buy me a birthday dinner, which was memorable. The waiter marvelled at the fact that we have been friends for 43 years, not believing for one minute either of us had even reached that, let alone our actual ages. Usually waiters don't make a play for tips here - I knew something fishy was going on.

My birthday dinner in May

When Catherine got back from a short concert tour we left Capitana and headed south west to Porto Malfantano where we anchored peacefully for a few nights. Peacefully, aside from a visit from the Guardia di Finanza in a growling, grey speedboat. They asked for our documents which we handed over into a fishing net and all being ok, they moved on very cheerfully. Obviously carrying Sicilian wine in Sardinia is not an offence, irrespective of the quantity. It struck me that we were becoming luckier with anchoring. Whether we were becoming better at reading the swell, weather and bays or whatever, I decided not to dwell on it and thus not mess with the formula.

Carloforte was our next stop and while it is a tiny place, you do feel like the country bumpkins when you venture back on land after having been at anchor for days. There is a familiar routine too, much of it will be common among other yachties, which involves tanking with water (unless you have a water-maker  - mmm), finding a supermarket close by with sensibly priced beer and, depending on the state of things, a laundry.

Provisioning in Carloforte

Yes, one of those please!

At €20 a tin, not to be found in Tesco

Our sail to the large bay of Oristano was not very memorable although on the plus side none of the large sea for which the west coast is notorious manifest itself. We found a good spot and stayed for a few days, visiting a little village on the western side of the isthmus from where we were anchored by dinghy, where a medieval and somewhat mouldy and abandoned church seemed to struggle for recognition in amongst the kite surfing and sun worshipping activities .

Oristano beach

Oristano anchorage

Again time was drawing near for Catherine to fly to Zurich and we moored up in Bosa halfway up the west coast in a marina situated at the mouth of the river Temo. I set myself a project for this period and that was to install solar panels on Rocko. It has been something we have wanted to do for ages, but the feeling of being fleeced after seeing the quotes in Turkey put this on the back-burner for a time. Steve on Amalia had installed a really good solution and after picking his brains about it I ordered the kit from the UK. It arrived amazingly quickly allowing me plenty of time to do the installation. To say it is life-changing is a little melodramatic, but the feeling of having power via something that makes no noise and that is freely available only enhances the whole feeling of independence. Oh, yes and the sun really does shine all the time.

Two of my pontoon neighbours

Bosa on the Fiume Temo

Pastel is always in stock

Bosa is not the centre of the world but it is a delightful place and the river connects the town to the sea providing the motorboat-loving locals with endless enjoyment and yachties with endless tut-tutting opportunity. I was some months into studying Italian and, Catherine not being around to provide a simultaneous translation service, I was able to give my broken Italian more of an outing. My neighbour on the pontoon, a local resident, is an avid sailor and went out most days. We got talking, in Italian, and he gave me a fulsome explanation of the ramifications of the sinking of the Costa Concordia upon the maritime insurance business and what a cretin Schettino is. I had hoped to participate a little more in the conversation, but the subject matter’s vocabulary was in a chapter I had yet to discover. Again, the friendliness of the Sardinians is fantastic. After commenting on the exorbitant price of diesel at the marina, as is invariably the case, he, Alessandro, drove me a good half an hour with his car to a petrol station that he knew so I could fill my jerry cans with diesel saving me 28 cents a litre, yet costing him, I don’t know how much in petrol, a contribution to which he declined.

I made the trip from Bosa to Olbia via bus and train to meet Catherine upon her return from Zurich and took the time to check out the possibilities of stationing myself there in August. The imperative to maximise earnings in the tourist trade during summer here is quite crass. July or September cost half of August and about half that again for June and October. This makes planning for August rather important, obviously. The town quay seemed like a good solution when I saw it , but Mark from Panacea was in a similar position picking up crew in Olbia and gave me a golden tip. More of that next time.

Bread is hell on the gas

Zucchini flowers in tempura batter

Pastry is easier in a house

We do try keep up the culinary standards on board, but it is not always easy with a cranky oven and a fridge that seems to be monopolised by the need for ice and chilled white wine.

Mazara del Vallo to Sardegna

The sailing season started in early May for us this year as we set off from Marina di Ragusa (MdR) and

Last minute preparations - laundry mostly

made our way west along the now familiar coastline of the south of Sicily and anchored outside Licata. While we found the marina a pleasant enough place on our visit at the end of the season last year, we started out determined to spend more time at anchor this season, something with which we would have varying degrees of success, but that story will unfold on its own. Day two saw us motor sailing to Mazara del Vallo and we thought to ourselves we could really do with less engine time too.

Mazara del Vallo

Mazara lies a little to the south east of Marsala and its unassuming port masks the entrance to a town with a rich and colourful history. There is a strong Arabic influence, which is visible in the architecture, fragrances of the spice shops and restaurants. You could be in Marrakesh with the streets decorated with colourful tiles embedded in walls and died fabric suspended in mid air for no apparent reason other than to make a bohemian statement.


An unassuming entrance hides a gem of a theatre, which has all the characteristics of its grand cousin in Milan, but on a miniature scale. Despite seating barely one hundred it has three tiers ornately clad with reclaimed wood from old fishing vessels. The largest fishing fleet in Italy is supposedly based here, but there was little evidence of that. Maybe they were out poaching in Tunisian waters as they are supposedly wont to do, or perhaps that it is just a tale of a bye-gone era. The connection to Tunisia, which is just 80 nautical miles to the south west, is strong and a migrant population that enriches the local culture here sends its children to schools supported and run by Tunis, to further Arab language and cultural education. A hot potato subject just about anywhere else today, this seems to bring no visible signs of tension. Perhaps the challenge of carving out a living and just getting along with each other focuses the mind away from issues that cause friction for the sake of it.

Teatro Garibaldi

Are we in Tunis?

or Marrakesh?

Just near the port there is a small museum that houses a remarkable bronze statue, the Dancing Satyr of Mazara, from 400 B.C. It was found by fishermen some twenty years ago between Sicily and Tunisia and, after a four year restoration and a tour of Italy, it returned to Mazara and is carefully preserved and beautifully displayed in a converted church. I am not an expert on bronzes, nevertheless I can't quite imagine how the art has improved much in the intervening years. Upon reflection we spent too little time here but we were looking for a good weather window to cross to Sardinia as Catherine's first patch of work was only a couple of weeks away. So, we set off for the Egadi Islands off the western tip of Sicily.

Greek Bronze Satyr

We headed for Favignana which this early in the season looked deserted and forlorn. A very unsuccessful attempt at finding a beautiful anchorage saw me damage the rudder and have to make a very ungraceful and hasty exit. After calling Tony at Vento di Maestrale in Trapani for help on an inevitable repair we spent a night at anchor in the next bay, Cala Azzura, which was more like frozen black ink than Azzura. None of the buoys were set yet and I had visions of the anchor becoming fouled between concrete buoy blocks to add to our woes. The wisdom of the Pilot books and their view on the protection for the swell was less than accurate and we spent an extremely rolly night on the hook. This idea of spending more time at anchor seemed like a foolhardy and unachievable one at best.

Pragmatism only just overtaking me being furious with myself, we set off early on Sunday back to the by now familiar Trapani. Our last visit here was in a violent Scirocco with 62 knot winds raging for days. This time the only thing raging was me at my own idiocy. A generalisation I know, but a hallmark of people you get to meet in these parts, is that they are ever friendly and helpful. We were soon in very good hands and Rocko was lifted at a boat yard in the harbour to reveal a damaged rudder albeit not as damaged as my ego.	Familiar views north of the Trapani peninsular
Like new again	We were assured that the repair would be done by the end of the week and allowing for some scepticism around that timing, I thought we would be back on track to get to Sardinia on time. Well, true to their word we were back in the water on Friday and ready to leave on Saturday. I don't know of many boatyards where the owner produces his own olive oil and gives you a complimentary bottle with the bill.  It is a very effective way of taking your mind of the damage for a minute or two.
Instead of trying to be all smarty pants about the crossing and get 12 miles closer by anchoring off one of the other Egadi islands, we decided enough of that and set off from Trapani at a civilised 7 am. For the first eight hours we had a nice 20 knot North Easterly and that, together with the current, meant we were screaming along at 9.6 knots over ground. After that died down the dolphins came out to play along with a large turtle just visible in the dusk.	Sailling into the night towards Villasimius

We got to the south eastern tip of Sardinia after 28 hours and anchored in one of the idyllic bays at Villasimius. The rocking was ridiculous though so we decided to capitulate and go into the marina for a few nights before we headed closer to Cagliari where Catherine had a flight to catch.

First glimpse of Sardegna with its pristine waters and beaches