Corsica to Liguria via Monaco

Campomoro

The charming and rather picturesque anchorage at Campomoro played host to us for several more languid days. Its appeal is reflected in the large number of boats that anchor here, although everyone seems to make sure they allow a respectable distance between one another.  So,  there have been no dramas and it still feels spacious and like being on holiday. It remains remarkably quiet too, with not much activity on shore here to provide any sort of distraction except, of course, the opportunity for long walks in amongst the untouched nature of which at least one us availed themselves. The wind and swell came up for a short while once, but as it is unusually well-protected all returned to normal pretty quickly. Aside from swimming and just generally lazing about we spent some time researching the next leg of our trip up the west coast of Corsica towards a hop-off point for the sail to Sanremo.

No tourists here

or here

or there.

Northwest Corsica

As settled as the weather is at the moment, we kept a keen eye on the barometer and the forecast, making sure a benign westerly did not turn into a Mistral as it is wont to do. We have a rather asymmetric relationship with the weather I have come to realise. We hope it goes well and the gods hope it doesn’t. Not wishing to tempt fate here, but we have been fortunate in having had a good history of anchoring and, as I have said before, it is much more preferable to sit out a blow at anchor than in a marina or port with boats and egos pounding against one another. As it happens, the west coast of Corsica, as gorgeous as it is, affords little shelter in rough weather with only a very few ports of refuge, all of which have obviously got the supply and demand calculation squarely in their favour. Unperturbed we took our time and found a lovely protected spot a few miles from where Ms Ramolino lived. You can see the appeal, although her son was nothing but trouble. I refer to Ajaccio of course the birthplace Napoleon Bonaparte. Speaking of historical upheavals, this coming weekend will probably be a bit manic as Quatorze Juillet falls on Saturday, when every jetski and outboard engine will certainly be mustered, weather permitting, to storm figurative Bastilles and cause huge wakes in celebration. A desolate bay seems like a good option and, fortunately, Friday seems like a moving day weather-wise.

Bastille Day

and walking on water...

Girolata  - more peaceful than it looks

The coast-line becomes increasingly dramatic as one goes north, with red granite mountains (yes they are mountains now) dropping down into idyllic coves. One such place is Girolata where we stayed overnight in a tiny bay tied up, fore and aft, to buoys with not much room between boats. There is no road access and, what was once an outpost for bandits, has now been transformed into a tiny oasis for waterborne guests. We had a great meal here in an excellent restaurant overlooking the bay that afforded us a moment to reflect upon our arrival when we were followed by a film crew and the local Marineira (lady Marineiro) making a promotional video. We were so distracted by their presence that we forgot to drop our mainsail and she, with visions of us trying to tie up to a buoy in a very tight space under sail, casually and somewhat sarcastically enquired whether I had any intention of coming in without sails.

Calvi Citadel

Our last stop in Corsica was Calvi, which has an imposing citadel that stands out against the Monte Cinto Mountain that is just over 2700 meters high. It claims to be the birthplace of Christopher Columbus (an opinion completely dismissed by the Genovese, of course) and the Citadel is home to the French Foreign Legion Parachute regiment, so you are not likely to argue the point - locally at least. The bay at Calvi is an expansive place and an ideal anchorage as well as gathering point for the katabatic winds that come down the mountains in the evening and the anabatic ones that go back during the day. Trusting our anchor we avoided that drama and wandered around the Citadel with its historic features interspersed with essential Glace Artisanale parlours, for heat management.

Calvi seen from the Chandlers	Menu du jour
Christopher Columbus was born here (?!)	Corsican spelling again

We had timed our departure perfectly, but for a huge swell that came up and made it impossible to lift the outboard engine as swell as the dinghy.  Also, a 26ft sloop that had arrived the previous day, had been abandoned by its owner and was porpoising all around our bow, meaning we couldn't weigh anchor.  For an hour or so, it looked like we were going to call it all off and leave the next day, but for a moment when the wind changed direction and we hastily raised our anchor before he swung back over it.  Dinghy on deck and outboard back on the transom we were able to point north and sail into the approaching dusk towards San Remo, enjoying a flat sea and calm night of, albeit it, motor-sailing.

Despite investment in new lures..	I still can't catch a single fish.

The view of Sanremo from our galley

We sailed into the port of Sanremo the next morning and took advantage of the Transito berths which are free for three days to visiting yachts, assuming you can get a spot and assuming you declare exactly when you arrive, which fortunately we did...and didn't. We really enjoyed our few days there with the transit berths lending a feeling of having an apartment right in the town for this short stay. The weather on the Riviera here is quite a lot warmer, meaning visits to get ice cream are frequent.  The days flew by as Catherine  got on with practicing for the concert the following week and I busied myself with town stuff. We also met up with Jacob and Vickie from Conquistador - moored up just behind us coincidentally -  who had been in Marina di Ragusa before us and who share lots of mutual friends. One of the highlights with them was an all you can eat Sushi meal, after which I have a feeling the restaurant may adjust its pricing structure back in their favour.

Obligatory pic of Dilbar with matching helicopter (G-DLBR)

It was time to get Catherine to her first rehearsal in Monaco, so we headed just 16nm west, changing flags twice! We entered the main port in Monaco, Port Hercule, with our crisp Monegasque courtesy flag flapping well below the main decks of superyacht after superyacht. Our berth was right between Tabac and the swimming pool, for anyone with an interest in and knowledge of Formula 1 track layouts. And, although it is all completely over the top, of course, one of the big luxuries was having access to potable fresh water again. We had stretched out our fresh water supply managing to get it to last for a month since our last top-up in a marina which was in Arbatax. I really did find this more valuable than the € 3,500 bottles of Chateau Petrus available at the local 24 hour convenience store.

Avoid bumping superyachts

While Catherine went to rehearsals in the Princier (the Prince’s Palace) I had time to ponder the ridiculousness of it all, while Ferrari after Lamborghini owner, repeatedly drove their hearts out on the street track a few meters behind our stern. The distinctive Police scooters were never far behind and yet, admonishment after admonishment did not deter the lust for torque and V8 growls amongst a sizeable group of diehards. We have been here before and there is no surprise really although this 2 square kilometers of wild excess is about to be increased by another 6 hectares of land reclamation at a cost of about 1 billion euros. I hope they don’t go over budget.

Port Hercule Fireworks

Convenience store wine

Splicing distraction

Rehearsal breaks

with musician friends

Some of the nicer moments during this visit were when we had old musician friends (long-standing sounds better maybe!) over for drinks and meals. Of course access to a fabulous selection of French cheeses just across the street was very welcome and, well yes, there was even affordable wine. Concert over, we made a move and I was given a last little reminder of our standing, when I went to the office to pay. “Which boat sir?”, me: Rocko One - “Ah, le petit bateau!”. I have to add that there was no charge for the water.

We are somewhere on the left	The prettier Fontvielle seen from the palace
My dress-sense precluded an invitation	The stage is set

We set off relatively early so we could try and get a transit berth in what has become our temporary Ligurian home, Sanremo. Our luck, ever intact, delivered again and we moored up in time to meet old friends who were on their way back to France by car. It was some months ago now that Catherine had rather whimsically suggested that for this work project that we sail here instead of catching a plane from somewhere in Greece, which had been one of our original cruising ideas for this season. Well, with a slight detour via Pantelleria and Tunisia as well as taking in Sardinia and Corsica along the way, we may just have found a more comfortable mode of commuting than using crowded airport terminals.

Ligurian dusk

Being the farthest West we are heading this season and close to the farthest north, it rather feels like the half-way mark now and yet we have a good three months at the turn to get home to Sicily and cover another  easy 800 or so nautical miles. Much as I love French, I will also not be distracted from my mission of speaking better Italian now....


Our Current Location

La Maddalena et le sud de la Corse

San Pantaleo

 A languid day in the very familiar setting of Porto San Paolo very soon turned into a week before we felt it was time to set off again. Just before we did though, the crews of Sirena and Rocko One went on a little excursion to the impossibly charming village of San Pantaleo. Home to about a thousand people in the summer and only scores in the winter, it positively bursts at the seams on a Thursday during the season, when the market comes to town and the population seems gain an order of magnitude. Atelier after Atelier sell wonderfully flowing and very individual dresses that catch the eye to the extent that the coffee shops and wine boutiques are heaving with spouses biding their time and managing their hydration levels. Even the street musicians are choreographed, being positioned just far enough apart from each other so as not to clash as well as catering to just about every taste. Impromptu dancing broke out when Tom followed by Susan and Catherine were inspired to take to the floor and engage with a local ‘personality’ whose undertaker garb belied an impish demeanour, all conspiring to create a memorable occasion.

Coltrane's cousin on holiday	Charlie and Tom
De rigueur dress for sailors and others	Bougainvillea everywhere
Comrades in arms	Blossom cloud

The sublime that followed was a visit to the Surrau winery, the setting of which rivals many a fine winery. The discreet architecture blends the buildings into the lush surroundings with natural materials creating an atmosphere reminiscent of wineries near Cape Town. We decided, this once, to follow experience and enjoyed their wines in situ rather than stocking up and risking spoiling the recollection. Sometimes memories travel better than bottles. I exaggerate slightly of course as we did buy some red Passito, which I am sure I will report upon in due course.

Buying wine in style

Tasting with a view

Storage solutions

The north east coast of Sardinia is home to more square metres of superyacht than you can possibly shake a stick at - or boat hook, if you prefer. Yet, the charm and beauty of the landscape remains only marginally diminished. We are pretty certain that it riles the owners of said Gin Palaces that we humble yachties share the same water and views and are able to sneak into some nooks and crannies where we find hardly any company other than fellow sailors. Last season we had decided to leave a visit of the Maddalena islands nature reserve for this year. It is a special place and has a veritable rule book that accompanies one’s entrance into it. Zero tolerance of waste of any form is one of the things and the turquoise water is a glorious testament to the success of what should be an obvious discipline. Even mildly soapy dishwater is not allowed, which is a good thing. One learns new habits on board a boat and one is how to deal with waste. There are tomes written about the blindingly obvious, but don’t create any is about the best advice one can receive or give.

Dead Man's Passage

Turquoise lagoon

We spent three days in the nature reserve and, while it is obviously a special place, I can’t help but feel that its image is ever so slightly oversold. As a consequence every square meter of usable anchorage is occupied until at least dusk when some semblance of calm prevails with the Cento Cavalli (the generic term for 100 or more horsepower speedboat things) and superyachts return from whence they came and mainly like-minded sailing types are left to enjoy the peaceful setting. Evocative names such as Dead Man’s passage describe lagoon-like areas next to gorgeous islands, one of which belonged to Garibaldi. There is probably some deeper meaning to the prevalence of past leaders and dictators owning and hailing from islands here, but our wine budget precludes too much speculation.

DIY Stonehenge on Lavezzi	Whose beach is this?
Tucked into Lazarina	Not too much chain out

A mere hour or so away to the west lies the familiar Lavezzi, which was home to us for a night last season. We managed to get into a small enclosed cove, Lazarina, where more than 5 yachts leads to permanent consternation. The water is pristine and the beach and paths into the rocky outcrops immaculately clean. It offers such protection from the elements that a sound night’s sleep is guaranteed.

Lunch stop sans tourists

Just before the swell

This was in rather sharp contrast to the following day when we decided to make some headway and, after a pleasant stop for Pastis to celebrate arriving in France, we anchored in Anse Fornellu. The backdrop of the wooded shore against mountains climbing to over 2500 meters is spectacular. The tranquility was quickly dispelled in the early evening though when a big rolling swell came in from the southwest, while the light wind kept us pointing exactly perpendicular to it. For once I got up and did something about it, attaching a line to the anchor chain and midship cleat and pointing us into the swell by locking off the rudder. The sideways rocking really will drive you nuts but the porpoising is fine. The original intention of staying a while was rather spoiled by the experience and we started to wend our way up the west coast finding a pretty, if busy, anchorage at Campomoro. There is a little, quite obvious truth here, if it is deserted, it is probably for a very good reason and if it is busy the exact same holds true. It feels like such a blend of Italy and France here that I totally forgot to hoist the French courtesy flag until the next morning. We are officially in France now..

Evidence of Elephants on Lavezzi....

The Sardinian Channel - joining two worlds

Before I continue with the tale of our journey on to Sardegna, there is a small postscript that I need to add to my last blog post from Sidi Bou Said. I had pressed ‘send’ on the previous post somewhat hastily as we had wanted to get an early night before our departure at dawn the next morning. A little after ten in the evening our newfound Tunisian friends stopped by the boat to come say goodbye, bottle of Tunisian Syrah in hand. They were surprised we were leaving already and tried to talk us out of our departure. They even offered to pick us up from another port up the coast if the wind was against us and we decided to stop there. The warmth is genuine here and not to be taken for granted. We will have to return next season and experience more...

Moucharabiehs to keep cool & incognito

House proud entrances

The weather window to cross to Sardegna was as good as we were going to get for another week. Well, in fact it was going to get terrible so we left as early as we could after our customs check-out into a brisk wind, but tolerable swell. This was at the time that the news broke of the plight of over 600 refugees/migrants picked up by the SOS Méditerranée not very far from us, which was not allowed to dock anywhere. Unless you have seen the sea state and towering waves angrily trying to broadside you, I would venture to say that we should not judge those who end up trying to better their lives by braving the very thin mercy of the elements no matter what your political viewpoint.

The passage to Sardegna was over 32 hours as we ended up clocking an extra 40 miles or so as we tacked our way north, not wishing to avail ourselves of the engine unnecessarily. Sailing is meant to have an accompanying sound of wind, waves and spray - not a diesel engine. During the rougher moments of a passage like this there is not much activity aside from keeping watch or sleeping, but when it is calmer we busy ourselves with all manner of things. We have a seasonal Scrabble match going that, while played in English, is definitely not all mine to win, disturbingly. If you can thread a needle it means the swell is not bad enough not to sew and there is always something to sew on board.

Do not tack!

Only attempted by the foolhardy

We arrived at the Capo Carbonara (not related to the dish) late the following afternoon after riding and surfing some big waves that only abated as we entered the bay. The plan was to relax for a while and to sit out the weather that we had seen coming. It was not too worrisome, but definitely not the kind of wind to venture out in for a few days if you have a choice. My favoured activity during such lulls in travel, it seems, is to strip down the outboard engine carburettor. This is potentially quite a stupid thing to do as the boat is not exactly still and little parts tend to go flying…. but luck, for once, was on my side.

Villasimius' ancient ...

and less ancient artifacts

Arriving in Sardegna again reminded us of the beauty of the landscape which is so unspoiled that one is almost reticent to recommend it to anyone. The whole issue around litter in the sea is so topical and it is heartening to see the Attenborough effect. It is predominantly a land problem I think, although I did have to spend several minutes under the water cutting off some fishing line that we had managed to get wrapped around the propeller shaft. As long as I am not fishing successfully, I can get rather sanctimonious about fishing line.

All neatly anchored in Porto Frailis just south of Arbatax

We lingered in the bay, Cala Giunco, for almost a week until we were spurred on to head north towards Arbatax, where we anchored in the beautiful bay of Porto Frailis. Our friends on Sirena and Vesna were there and we enjoyed a welcome reunion tipple upon our arrival. Jack on Vesna has two very good attributes, he is a very generous person and, probably more importantly, he has an ice-maker on board.

Gorropu Canyon  - looking down some 700 meters and several miles to our picnic spot 

Our resident polylinguist and alpine all-rounder felt a day in the mountains would enrich us, albeit not our knees. So we, Rocko One and Sirena, headed off inland the next day, an hour’s drive away to start a hike down to a canyon, Gorropu, whose scale and beauty is best left to photos to describe. Of course we were quite laden down with a multi-faceted picnic, but there were no complaints in terms of the weight on our backs. Once we were at the canyon, several hours on foot and an elevation drop of around 700 meters, on ageing knees, we were greeted by a river with crystal, cool water and house-sized white rocks against a huge granite backdrop.  It is a climber’s paradise and looking around you would not know what century you’re in. Mind you, If you happen to have seen the forestry vehicles, you still wouldn’t have known what century you were in. The mantra of ‘take nothing but images and leave nothing but footsteps’ is strictly adhered to and it is a privilege to experience nature like this. There is a grandeur about the place that is not what one expects from what is a relatively small island

Ant-sized people in the gorge	After 2hrs another 2.5km was definitely an attempt at humour
Clapped-out hikers' picnic	Completely pristine nature

Historically Sardegna has not been an easy place to conquer and this inaccessible terrain is probably one of the main reasons why. It is only after the 1960s when a huge investment in infrastructure took place that created a road network, which started a different sort of invasion. That Italy and NATO chose Sardegna as a location for the majority of Italian military installations and experimental weapons testing is a bit of a hidden disgrace. After all, if push came to shove, what would they actually use them for! They can't even sort out a ship full of unarmed, frightened migrants... anyway, back to nature:

We had checked into the Marina di Arbatax so that we could do the trip to Gorropu, but decided that outstaying the 24 hour charge period was not an option given that the pristine water of the bay was calling and even though a bit of a northerly blow was expected, being at anchor is more pleasant than being tied up in a port with rather static air. This was a sensible rationale in part. The other part though did not predict the amount of swell we would encounter that afternoon. We had arranged a barbecue with SY Sirena, but it was clear that that would not work given the fact that both our boats were rocking quite violently and no wine glass would keep still for long.

How many Guardia does it take .... Around 7pm just when we were contemplating going back into the Marina di Arbatax some 3 nautical miles away, out of nowhere a Guardia di Finanza speedboat appeared. They approached Sirena, going for the Italian flag and bigger potential catch obviously. My friend Tom though just about lost his rag with them (as they had picked on him just two days before and not long before that too) and he effectively shooed them away! Of course we were next in the firing line and they, quite politely admittedly, asked for all our papers. These they accepted precariously into a fishing net while their skipper fought the hefty swell (not apparent on the picture at all). Their ruminations about our status etc. took long enough for the window to return to the marina to have closed. The night was very roly, but not the worst we have experienced, being where your fillings get shaken loose and the market justification for melamine plates becomes obvious. It seems that we are definitely getting thick-skinned or have serial amnesia.

Our next stop is Porto San Paolo, which is a little south of Olbia, and under the watchful gaze of the Tavolara island/rock.  Last August we spent nearly a month here criss-crossing this coastline and enjoying fantastic sailing and pristine waters.  With our sailing we have not spent a lot of time returning to places and it is an almost guilty pleasure to settle into familiar waters and vistas.

Watch tower over Frailis

Glass-like water that flatters to deceive

We have three weeks and 280 Nautical miles to get to Monaco now which is a lazy itinerary, given that we have covered more than double that distance already. Next stops will be the Maddalena islands and then Corsica...à bientôt.

Tavolara with Sirena on the right