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

A Toe in the Maghreb

Cafe des Delices looking down to the port

We left Pantelleria after doing the weather analysis bit to death and were rewarded with exactly what we expected, 15 - 20 knot winds on the beam and a rocky 18 hours in a short sea. We gave Cap Bon on the north eastern tip of Tunisia a very wide berth, having noted the prevalence of wrecks on the chart, and found ourselves in the middle of the gulf of Tunis at sunrise. The marina at Sidi Bou Said was unresponsive on the VHF and a silted entrance meant approaching without some understanding of the state of the dredged chanel was a dicey business. Thanks to Mohamed, who we met in Pantelleria, we had the harbour master’s personal phone number and he sorted out our arrival in no time at all. We were tucked into a quiet and very protected space and asked to visit the customs and marina office when we were ready. The police and customs could not have been friendlier or more efficient and I have to say it irks me how people write spurious stuff about them and how they are all on the take. Of course French is the other main language here and, once again, it rather helps to use it. A warmer reception we have seldom experienced and everyone we saw not only said hello but wished us ‘La bienvenue’. We called Mohamed to thank him for arranging the berth and indicated we wanted to reciprocate in some form.

Zitouna Mosque

It being Ramadan now, we were not sure of what to suggest. He in turn said it was no effort at all and suggested we join his family for a meal to break fast that evening. I have been in other muslim countries during Ramadan  (notably Indonesia) so I had some inkling of what to expect. Nevertheless to be invited to a family dinner is hospitality squared. We went into the medina and ate on the roof terrace of M’Rabet just near the Zitouna Mosque. We were served brik a l’oeuf while we were bathed in the glorious scent of charcoal grilled lamb. It was delicious if a little rushed though as even the waiters and cooks pushed the pace, given that they could only eat once the guests had finished. Fasting is for the resolute, that is for certain. We returned to the relative calm of the marina, after battling through some mad traffic, and opened the fridge, I say no more...

The glorious Bardo Museum

The next morning we made an excursion into Tunis, which would not be complete without a visit to the Bardo museum. So, shrugging off the offer of a limousine, we hopped into a local taxi that had obviously some wheel alignment issues. Our driver bravely kept his failing car on the road by coaxing the wheel constantly to port then immediately to starboard as if he had been schooled in yaw damping from an early age. We had pre-negotiated what seemed a fair price for the ride, but the settlement was not complete until he tried to levy the agreed fare on each of us. He good-naturedly laughed off his own attempt at a last gasp negotiation and we crossed a crazily busy road to enter the sanctuary of the museum. Only a few years ago though an atrocity played out here and it was all but a sanctuary in March 2015, but life moves on and even in the heightened security, a state of relative calm has been restored.

The Bardo is an expansive and overwhelming place that has a concentration of antiquity on display that takes some time to digest. It seems absurd too that one studies these breathtaking ancient artifacts, while walking on byzantine mosaic floors (in fact just about all the exhibits are unprotected), but it is a rare occurrence that we chose to savour and not question in this instance.

Baptism in style

The span of millenia and cultures presented encompasses the Greek, Roman, early Christian, Jewish and Islamic worlds. It is perhaps not without small surprise that the state of preservation of some of these artifacts from the other two Abrahamic religions are in such pristine condition and presented with such respect. Clearly there is a barrier of prejudice a bit further to our north whose existence is not supported by the evidence on the ground here. Most of our journey over the past few years can be characterised as having had its roots in The Idea of South, which I have borrowed (antithetically) from Glenn Gould’s 1967 documentary ‘The Idea of North’ from his Solitude Trilogy. As we venture to the southern reaches of Europe though, we are presented with the truth that there is a southern perimeter which has more to do with boundaries of preference and bias than any real borders. We sit most of the year in Sicily, which itself is on part of the African Mediterranean plate and whose history is entirely intertwined with the Maghreb. The reasons found in polite society, not to do such journeys are numerous, but in reality they are the only way one can dispel these myths. Flying to these places is not the same as us sailing along at 5 or 6 knots and tracking our progress painstakingly slowly between Europe and Africa. The sea is the same sea, fishing vessels large and small form a practically contiguous activity between the Christian north and Islamic South and their co-existence is as beneficial as it has ever been.

Ulysses

Having reached saturation point we made our way to the tram and caught the number three to Tunis Marine. This same Alstom tram is to be found in many large EU cities, but usually rather less packed full of people. On the subsequent train journey to Sidi Bou Said we realised again why travelling in a limo or even taxi, hermetically seals you from experiencing these new surroundings first hand. One is warned about pickpockets, but in reality the people watching opportunity far outweighs the risk of losing a few Dinars, which we at no stage felt we were in danger of doing anyway. I am not sure that on the London Underground for instance you will see a youngster jumping up to give his seat to an old man, not me I hasten to add, or complete strangers trying to make a connection with tourists and each other through constant conversation in French, Tunisian, Arabic, English, and smatterings of German. My Tunisian is non-existent, of course, but I would bet a penny to a pound that Solitude is not a much used word here.
This bohemian village, Sidi Bou Said, sits on the top of hill above the port and presents a totally different picture and atmosphere to that of most of the capital, Tunis. It is very picturesque and its whitewashed walls, decorated (mostly blue) doors, Moucharabiehs, opulent bougainvilleas and fragrant jasmine, create an aesthetic and luminescence that has attracted artists for over a century.

Paul Klee, August Macke and Louis Moilliet visited here just over a hundred years ago and were captivated by its luminous quality - it has been billed as the visit that changed modern art. The sea breeze and prevailing winds mean that the air is clear and fresh providing relief from the soaring summer temperatures, which approach 50 degrees in August.
Whether or not the reputation as an artists’ hub is valid today is a matter for conjecture, but certainly production ceramics are on offer all over, making for an unnecessarily commercial sight. After we met a man with a Falcon whose photogenic bird came at a price, we stopped at the Cafe de Delices, of Patrick Bruel fame. It stands at the top of Les 365 Marches, which lead down to the port, and provides a glorious view of the gulf and sadly, probably, the promise of the North. We decided to visit Tunisia on a whim, but leave in the certain knowledge that it was an essential thing to do. We head now to familiar waters again, but I am certain with a new perspective.

Our Current Location

Setting Sail Again

MdR - the obvious allure

Finally our 2018 sailing season has started with our departure from Marina di Ragusa on Sunday. After months of being tied up there is always the slight hesitation as to whether everything will work as it should.  As most of us are blessed with a fair dose of OCD, we tend to triple check things and then invent another list to re-check. Suffice it to say, if something doesn't work by the time you leave, you have very bad luck.
My last minute headache that I discovered quite by chance was the autopilot hydraulic pump that stopped working. It characteristically sits in a position best visited by 2 ft high engineers with #13 sockets and a hook wrench. Since, outside of French boatyards (this is a French boat), these are in short supply, I was forced to improvise with the aid of much blue air and the suspension of my claustrophobia.  Luckily the, again French, manufacturer of said hydraulic cylinder was able to send me a new set of seals almost quicker than you can say 140 Euros. I fear that this new found-skill of rebuilding hydraulic linear drives will have a somewhat limited application, nevertheless it is worth the one-off effort when balanced against the prospect of hand steering for 27 hours to Tunisia in the sometimes rough Sicilian channel.  This was my final task before I got into the realms of inventing things and upon Catherine's return from some work, and a slight pause to have a birthday meal with friends, we set off, I a year older,  west for a gentle day sail to be sure, to be sure that all was well.

Chiesa del Carmine - Sciacca

We anchored outside Licata once again and agreed that our sea-legs must have improved somewhat as the rolling in a moderate swell had no discernable negative effect upon morale. The water is still a touch chilly, but clean and clear enough for me to dive to see that below the water-line all quite free of fouling and even the anode was relatively intact. Ian of Linea persuaded me to buy a galvanic isolator which I installed last year and has saved me the enormous cost of a 4 Euro anode. I jest of course, as the extent of the saving is more like the difference between the propeller staying a 3 blade one and not becoming a 2 blade version.  This may sound a bit dramatic, but certain retail habits require  special justification.

We had had in mind to sail to Mazara del Vallo early the next morning, but along the way, after 9 hours of heavy swell and a 30 knot wind, we decided that, the cobwebs sufficiently cleared, we would stop in Sciacca instead; foregoing another 5 hours of being battered about. The mooring up in Nautico Corallo was relatively painless despite the very heavy cross wind. The Ormeggiatore was super helpful and we managed to tie up with no dented egos or scratched gel-coat. I must have been digesting Giorgio of Amalfi's boat handling skills all winter.

Bentivegna -  1 of 20,000

Ceramic lined streets

Awaiting a tourist

After we cleared our heads of the wind we headed up to the town which is at the top of 200 steps, or so they say. One is greeted by an expansive piazza overlooking the port and surrounded by a combination of typical Sicilian Baroque and some younger less illustrious architecture with cobbled streets going further up a steep hill. We soon found, what turned out to be an excellent Pizzeria, very aptly named Bellavista and enjoyed a lovely meal served by a very friendly and attentive waiter.  I had an inkling that we would stay here for more time than we had planned.

Castello Incantato - Sciacca

In the morning, the wind had abated and the sun returned with a vengeance. The heat made for a welcome change and we headed back up the steps for a gelato. Our next stop was a hat stop as I thought a panama hat would be a suitable accoutrement to try again after the previous one I bought on Naxos was swept away hours after having bought it. We stepped into a vignette of Sicilian life as we crossed the threshold of this milliner's store. The hat purchase out of the way, we got talking to the father and daughter owners and covered subjects as far ranging as the occupation of Sicily by the Bourbonnes to the benefits of Durum wheat in the bread of the south.  It struck us that there is an eloquence here that illustrates a knowledge of the historical as well as contemporary context of Sicily beyond what we are used to experiencing at home. I am still a relative bystander in these conversations as my Italian progresses to marginally beyond the 'negotiate a mooring with the Ormeggiatore' level, nevertheless I am glad that I understand a lot more now and am not tempted to try and switch into English.  It is an important journey in the road to acceptance here albeit that dialect has a strong presence and is quite unfathomable.

This encounter left us feeling that Sicily is a series of short stories that one seems to walk into.  Our next one was, perhaps somewhat predictably, in a wine shop.  It was already nearly 1pm and, what looked like a well stocked wine boutique was about to close. He said he would stay open for a few minutes while we looked around though and we scoured the shelves for familiar and new labels. He happened to have a particular red that we enjoy very much but that we seldom find. We said we might stop by later in the afternoon as we didn't feel like carrying bottles in the heat down to the port. He said, 'oh, you're in a boat... are you at Lega Navale or Corallo?'. 'Corallo', I said. 'Well I have a boat there too, I will bring the wine to you this evening'.  You fish then, I guessed. Yes! and out came the phone with pictures of his prize catches, the last one being a 90kg Swordfish just about as big as him.  The importance of his lunch hour receded as we discussed the state of the sea between Sciacca and Tunisia and where the Tuna are to be found since the Swordfish population has dwindled.  Again a short story encounter. Someone who, on the face of it, is a wine shop proprietor, but whose passion is clearly fishing, his motor boat and getting on the water.

More heads

Our next excursion was to an open air museum a short ride away. While at the bus stop a spritely octogenarian started talking to me asking where I was from. It was a ruse of course, as he had no real intention of remembering. He had worked in the textile industry in Arnhem in the Netherlands for many years and was able to compress his life's story into the 12 minute bus wait. I figured out that he had a 180 second memory as every three minutes he asked 'Di dove sei?' followed by the obligatory reference to a northern language joke 'Warum Banane krumm?'.   The arrival of the number 4 bus brought the encounter to a tidy close and we headed towards Castello Incantato the home of one of Sciacca's famous and eccentric sons, Filippo Bentivegna.  I like sculpture as much as the next guy, but his feat of having carved 20,000 heads during his lifetime seemed to the lay person a triumph of quantity over quality. A bit hard to copy though, so he gets gold in the originality department.

We left Sciacca full of impressions, mostly pleasant but also with a touch of melancholy for the slightly run-down nature of it all. The dearth of tourists though is also a blessing and perhaps the balance is just right.

Panama and Fiat

Lago di Venere

Hippies in town again

Our next stop was Pantelleria, a small volcanic island 65 nautical miles SW and a short sail from the East coast of Tunisia. Despite being June already, the harbour was relatively empty and we were able to tie up without any problem...or charge.  We hired a car for a couple of days and explored this rocky, yet verdant place.  Its proximity to Africa and the Maghreb is palpable and the Dammusi (houses) with their characteristic dry stone walls and whitewashed dome roofs give it an other worldly feel.

Scauri on Pantelleria - Wonderful food, but dodgy mooring

There is a disproportionate number of good  restaurants here it seems and we mostly ate out savouring some really good Rascasse with our neighbours on the quay.  There are thermal springs that flow into the sea and we enjoyed the incongruous sensation of 40 degree celcius pools a few feet away from what is still a chilly sea.  Another sight is the Lago di Venere, a very shallow thermal lake with temperatures rising to above 50 degrees in places.  It would not be like me not to mention that the local desert wine from the Zibibbo grape, Passito, is particularly delectable and a number of well-known wineries such as Pellegrino and the picturesque Donnafugata have a significant presence here.

Donnafugata Winery

Architecture that divides opinion

Flora for volcanoes

With an eye on an approaching weather pattern, our plan was to head next to a convenient port in Tunisia. Coincidentally a yacht from Sidi Boussaid  - just near Tunis, was moored up almost next to us and we got chatting to the crew who said they could arrange a berth in what is otherwise a very busy marina.  This is just next to the historical site of Carthage and seemed like the ideal place to be.  While it is not very far, probably 14 - 16 hours sail, finding a weather window is more of a challenge with the Sicilian channel throwing up all sorts of obstacles.  We decided upon an overnight Wednesday to Thursday and busied ourselves with some boat preparation tasks while we waited for the wind to change direction. The next post, and I had not thought I would say this, will be from Africa... a presto!