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.
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| Ponza |
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| Ponza anchorage |
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| Deserted beaches |
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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.
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| 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.
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.
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| Tight spaces in Amalfi |
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| Accioroli |
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| Scario |
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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.
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