Lerici, Rome and home to Sicily

Lerici in the Gulf of Poets

We remained at anchor in Lerici for another week, continuing to enjoy Fabian’s company and resisting the urge to head south, but Catherine had an appointment with a plane in Rome and we wanted to see Elba before that. So, we eventually set off and made for Livorno. Its English name, Leghorn, seems odd, but is the name for the breed of Chicken named after the town, or the egg, I can’t remember which comes first. The town has a long history and the 17th Century canals are just about navigable, if you ignore the wall to wall cento cavalli parked on either bank. We took our dinghy and spent a couple of hours discovering this seat of Medici influence. As friendly as the Ormeggiatore at the Livorno Yacht Club was, the fee reflected that one was was in Tuscany now, leading us to move on swiftly the following day.

Being serenaded from the bandstand	Ferrying Fabs to rehearsals
Time for a project	Bay of Poets from above Lerici

Elba is about 9 hours due South from Livorno at our pace and we arrived in the mid afternoon in the bay of Portoferraio. While safe with great holding, the water is not exactly pristine, given that Sardinia sets the standard. Even though this is difficult to match, the bay is definitely not somewhere I would swim voluntarily. Aside from the Medici, Portoferraio’s other famous resident was Napoleon. Although he was only here from the spring of 1814 to the beginning of 1815 when he ‘escaped’, the Bonaparte brand permeates town as if he had been here a lifetime. His accomplishments in that short space of time were breathtaking and would that modern organisers had the ability to mobilise a society to affect such change and momentum. He got the mines working (he was the beneficiary of their output, of course), animated the building of a theatre and sparked the rise of countless fridge magnet kiosks on the wharf to name but few of his achievements .

Entrance to the Livorno Canals	Renaissance fortifications
Napoleon's view of Portoferraio	Medici's town

As a westerly was headed our way, we sailed around to Porto Azzurro, which is only open to the east. The name is slightly misleading, the Azzurro part I mean, but it is a charming and a somewhat upmarket place, no doubt from having been graced with Tuscan discretionary spend over many decades. We visited a few more anchorages before deciding that trying to recapture the idyllic nature of Sardinia was only possible by sailing back to there. So, instead, we left for Cala Galera just near the Island of Giglio - where the Costa Concordia ran aground in 2012. We were in the middle of a 100 nautical mile trip to get to Rome so we decided not to hang about and left there in the morning and stopped just south of Civitavecchia at Santa Marinella. Both names are misleadingly evocative of romance and charm, yet are part of a coastline punctuated by an incongruous mix of industrial developments and Roman weekend swimmers.
Our approach into the mouth of the Tiber at Fiumicino and Darsena Traiano reminded one of what had been thrown into the river in centuries past. While very convenient and managed by the hugely affable Gianni, it was a congregation point for every single stray piece of bamboo you can imagine  - as well as some other things you would rather not imagine. I stayed there for two weeks and, despite the debris, I had a very enjoyable time. This was capped by a short road trip to fetch Catherine after her concert and meet up with Pete and Jayne over a great meal at I Miei Sapori in Pisa. We drove back to Rome the day after the ORR concert of the Verdi Requiem in the Duomo, which I passed on mainly because it was sold-out, but also as I was not in a Verdi Requiem sort of mood - of course I missed what must have been a special performance as evidenced by the prolonged applause practically audible from the terrace bar of our hotel overlooking the Duomo and the leaning tower. We passed by Calera Galera and Porto Ercole, Santa Marinella etc. all rather swiftly in the car of course. The juxtaposition of these two different paces of life creating some pause for thought. The conclusion in favour of the more leisurely one is hardly a surprise.

The view over my glass of prosecco

Porto Azzurro on Elba

The weather was in our favour to leave the next day, so after returning the car we set off for Anzio and then Gaeta a day later where, in the shadow of the USS Mount Whitney, we got battered about in a Force 8 while at anchor. After a bit of a sleepless night, despite not dragging at all, we relented and went into the marina Flavio Gioia and swapped a wad of Euros for a couple of nights good sleep. It seemed, now in the last few days of September, to be the turning point of the weather for the season. Our friends on Vesna decided to high-tail it all the way back to Marina di Ragusa the next day, which I remember remarking to myself probably meant they knew something we didn’t! We braved the increasingly unsettled weather for another three weeks though and while we had some uncertain moments, we were also rewarded with some charming anchorages and lasting memories. Previously we had skirted around the bay of Naples favouring Ischia and heading south past Capri, but we found a very safe anchorage in Porto Miseno for a night, before the weekend pleasure-craft brigade arrived and created a parking lot of motor boats. While one might feel as if everyone is encroaching upon one’s personal space, there is no hint of that in truth. Indeed only a live let-live atmosphere. In this part of the world the people right next to you leave you completely alone and do not point out what they may think you ought to do or make you aware of any rules or regulations: in return they expect you to leave them alone and get on with enjoying life too. This, vivi e lascia vivere, is a very good arrangement and a large part of the reason that we return time and time again.

Acciaroli

I have written about Acciaroli before as we visited this time last season. Foodies will know this area for its proximity to Pioppi and Delia Morinelli's restaurant there. We, however, found our way to an altogether more humble yet quaint restaurant that we visited last year, where the sulky owner had corrected our choice of wine and brought a more appropriate tipple. Obviously we weren’t immediately recognised, but the story resonated with him. Probably illustrating his habitual sullenness rather than a dawning realisation of who we were. This time he cheered up somewhat especially when we spoke of fishing and and he was able to ridicule my mixed fortunes. The next morning we chanced to see him in the village in an ill-fitting suit with his very glamorously attired wife leading the way. They were off to a staff member’s wedding, he obviously quite reluctantly. We said well, when it is over come and have a drink with us on board and kick off your shoes. That evening the crews from Kady and Bobcat were on board and after 9 we got a knock on the hull - it was Annamaria from Tartana and her husband with a bottle of prosecco in tow. Next time we will have to figure a way to get me a job in the kitchen - no point in rushing these things.
We were on the transit berth for a number of days, the local young man responsible seeming to worry less about our presence than the prospect of having to become officious. The trick is to put on your best camouflage behaviour and only speak when you are spoken to. This served us well for several days beyond the allotted time, allowing to enjoy this lovely place again. Bobcat (Dave and Luda) acted as our scouts and found a good anchorage just a few hours away at Palinuro, which gave us good protection from the south easterly that was still hounding us. This coastline is familiar to us by now and so too are its thunderstorms at this time of the year. We deftly avoided any trouble by spending the following night at Cetraro, which unfortunately does not have many other redeeming features than offering a fuel pontoon and quite good protection. We left early the next day successfully leaving a thunderstorm right behind us and headed the 9 hours south to Vibo - where we anchored with Cath and Ray on Kady.

Vibo - flattering to deceive

Getting through the Straits of Messina is a matter of timing. Having the tidal flow against you will set you back up to five and half knots, so we opted to spend night in the slightly bizarre port of Gioia Tauro. This is a huge container port stretching for over two miles, lined with more tetrapods than in a Spielberg movie and with only a tiny corner reserved for a visiting yacht or maximum two. Our 10 hour sail southwards to Giardini Naxos through the Messina Strait had us reaching nearly 10 knots at one stage through the effervescent water that is overlooked by Scylla to the east and Charybdis to the west. From Magna Grecia onwards, 2,700 years of civilisation has been witness to this coastline and it still has not lost its allure. In the shadow of Mount Etna there is a palpably different climate, with lush green and palm trees conspiring to create the illusion of proximity to the tropics rather than the deserts of North Africa. This year the usually unsettled weather at this time of the season decided to show us a thing or two as a tropical-like cyclone ‘Zorba’ played havoc with the plans of many of our friends. As soon as a storm is christened, you know you have to pay attention. Even our yacht insurance has conditions attached to named storms, so for all my light-hearted banter about this, it will remain a lasting memory for some. Luckily we were more on the periphery though and we avoided any drama by patiently waiting for safe weather windows and following at a safe distance. Siracusa had been close to the path of Zorba but we got there in time only to witness the remnants, being tons of bamboo floating in the bay. We anchored safely for a day and then moved to the town quay as some last gasp wind came in to remind us of who was in charge here. The town quay at Ortigia on the edge of Siracusa is a welcoming place with its labyrinth of small alleys all leading to one gelateria better than the last and a fresh market that is a destination in its own right and one of favourite haunts. While the temperature is still very pleasant, one learns that riding a bicycle after the pouring rain is a red rag to a bull when it comes to trucks and puddles, and getting drenched tends to lower the temperature rapidly. The reward after a wet 20 minute cycle, however, is cheap beer from Lidl, so context becomes everything.

Weather planning notes - don't ask!

A week flew by when it felt time to leave. Rather than stop at Portopalo on the southeastern tip of Sicily as we normally would have, we decided to sail the 50 or so nautical miles back to our winter home in one go. Again, partly because we had seen a storm coming in, but also due to our reluctance to play this cat and mouse game with the weather for much longer. Much as we knew that after a short period of being tied up we would rue having stopped the season when we did, the prospect of being sedentary for a while after nearly two thousand nautical miles and over fifty bays and anchorages in just under five months was a very welcome one. A small convoy of us left Siracusa and mostly motor-sailed quite uneventfully south and then west arriving at MdR in the sunny late afternoon. Tying up at our usual berth on L pontoon, we were welcomed by a number of friends who had returned already. This meant there was a surfeit of working and stocked fridges and we took full advantage of that.

MdR

Liguria - Imperia to La Spezia

Cervo - summer home of Sandor Vegh

We tore ourselves away from Sanremo - eventually - and made our way to a rendezvous with Gwendoline and Glenn of SY Pardela in Savona.  Along the way  we passed by Cervo, where our mentor Sandor Vegh had had a summer residence and where we played concerts early in our careers.  We threw anchor at the private island of Gallinara just south of Albenga for a swim way to try and escape the heat as well as the somewhat industrialised coastline.
Savona has a Darsena Vecchia (old dock) in the heart of the town, but also in the heart of the heat, so we all opted to remain at anchor in the bay so we could cool ourselves down in the water - cool wasn’t exactly possible though with the sea being above 32 degrees celsius! Pardela’s dinghy provided transport into the town a mile or so away past the eerie backdrop of disused loading wharfs and derelict fishermen's huts.  This was once the seat of the iron-ore industry, but foundries are cold now and only rusting remnants remain.  It is all rather on the quaint side of run-down though and we enjoyed three slightly well-oiled and gloriously fed days with G and G. Mutual friends will understand the obvious understatement. Aside from finding a really good chandler, we also found a memorable Indian restaurant where we doused the heat rather laconically with a Vindaloo and Indian beer somewhat oddly named - Kamasutra.
As Pardela sailed further west we continued east to our next port, Genoa. Not just a port of call, but a serious port in terms of size, traffic and, sadly, water pollution. It was Saturday and there must have been 5 or 6 very large cruise liners docked at any one given moment, yet it is such a huge and sprawling place that there is no sense of being cramped, only thrown about by the wash a little.

Molo Vecchio Genoa from our bow

Evidence of former Genovese glory was represented by a faux Galleon in the Porto Antico, but more interestingly in the museums, notably those a little way up the hill on Via Garibaldi - yes what a surprisingly unique name for a street. The Palazzi, Rosso and Bianco, now art museums, house more square metres of Renaissance paintings than one can sensibly absorb in a short visit and it is not long before one gets Caravaggio saturation. Our, predictable, interest though was that of the Paganini collection in the Palazzo Tursi. His Guarneri del Gesu hangs forlornly in a glass cabinet never to be played, or indeed cleaned,  again and a small collection of artifacts including his Vuillaume half fill display cabinets. The slightly meagre collection is evidence of his unhappy dalliance with gambling. I have an aversion to these important instruments lying dormant in museums like this and it rather puts me off. It was pointed out to me, rather sharply, by Catherine that, since I have never practiced Paganini Caprices, I have no idea what I am talking about. She is about 50% correct there, but rather than create a scene, I suggested Gelato and all was well again.

Paganini's Guarneri del Gesu

As I started to have visions of massive growth build-up on our hull, I suggested we head for cleaner waters so we set off for Portofino. It was, rather unsurprisingly, blocked by three superyachts on the dock and several more anchored just off. After a controlled period of tut-tutting we headed a couple of miles further north to Santa Margherita Ligure and anchored in its small bay. It is as entirely charming as its name suggests and provides the perfect setting for a relaxing few days. It is more reminiscent of a film or opera set than a town and sitting at a bar along the waterfront or Lungomare, one is entertained by unfolding dramas every few minutes.

This is a centre of food too of course and delicatessen after wine boutique provided much retail distraction. We found a great little pasta shop on Corso Matteotti where the proprietor spent as much time and effort selling his wares as he spent ensuring that one cooks them to perfection and only with a sauce of which he approves. We went back after the first lot of fish ravioli turned out to be fantastically delicious only to be treated to further delights and waistline enhancing delicacies.  We also found a butcher who was prepared to part with a Bistecca Fiorentina for mere coins. Later it dignified our BBQ and we were in a carnivorous stupor in no time.

Santa Margherita Ligure

To say that time was pressing would be have been inaccurate, but even we can have too much of a good thing.  So, we headed to Sestri Levante a mere 2 hours away, but when we anchored we were thrown about with a tremendous swell that came into the bay. Seeing a vacant fuel dock we tied up there on the pretext of wanting to fill up in the morning when it opened again. Luckily the coast guard was in a good or distracted mood when he gruffly reiterated what was obviously stated on the red sign right next to us. Stopping, tieing-up, loitering, hanging about: prohibited at night. In the end the diesel was very a very good price, but the fuel guy told us that we were lucky as usually the coast guard levies a €2,000 fine for berthing there!  As it happened they had a whole team of divers leaving to detonate an unexploded bomb, so fortunately our otherwise serious transgression was lost in the figurative noise of it all. The next day the swell was as bad so we backtracked to Santa Margherita to sit it out before heading to La Spezia.

Our plan for the Ligurian coast which  encompasses Imperia, Savona, Genova and La Spezia, was to get to Lerici near La Spezia where Fabian was going to be playing at a festival in August. The coastline of the Cinque Terre, between levante and Porto Venere is breathtakingly full of small craft and day-tripper boats this close to the main Italian holiday of Ferragosto.  I would hazard a guess that the assumption of Mary into Heaven at the end of her earthly life did not take place exactly here, but you would be hard pushed to find a better setting, if you were to follow the same fate.

Porto Venere, at the western tip of the Gulf of La Spezia, has a two thousand year old  history, but thanks to tourist dollars it looks as if it was painted just last weekend. We sailed a bit further into the Gulf of La Spezia and into the little bay of Le Grazie. This muddy inlet provides fantastic protection, which was just as well given the weather we were expecting.  That night all hell broke loose and we experienced hours of eyelid piercing sheet lightning.  We packed our spare electronics in the oven for protection and sat it out somewhat fatalistically. The next morning, August 14th, the Ponte Morandi in Genoa collapsed spectacularly. Even though there was much written about its poor state of repair, it would be surprising for any structure to withstand that kind of force of nature.

Porto Venere

The weather cleared just about as quickly as it had appeared and we sailed the short distance to the bay at Lerici. While there are scores of motor boats moored on buoys, there are very few yachts yet we found ample place to anchor within a short dinghy ride of the town and the final resting place of both Percy Bysshe Shelley and our Yamaha outboard engine. Fabian's accommodation was a bit far away, so he stayed on board with us for the first while, which provided a wonderful opportunity to catch up on things as well as buy a new outboard. Our new Suzuki started straight away and ticked over gently and quietly making the mourning period for the Yamaha commensurately short. It is notable that having gone through my entire life never having owned something made by Suzuki, yet having being aware of the brand for decades, speaks to a determined marketing campaign on their part. I feel almost guilty for the amount I paid.... almost.