An Adriatic Season

Crotone's past

The observant among you will have spotted that I sneaked this post in anachronistically, as the year to which it belongs is one we all would rather have forgotten about. I also failed to exploit the word anachronistic while in Greece last time around, so unashamedly I do so now. Our grand idea for 2021, the one where the phrase 'the best-laid plans, of mice and men' comes from, was to sail to Venice, tie up in San Giorgio Maggiore Yacht Harbour and sip Prosecchi while watching the passing traffic in the Canale Grande.  This, after exploring the length of the east coast of Italy.

Wedded to Bari?

Well, after a friend's boat sank on the way to Greece just as the season started, we approached long passages with some trepidation and in my mind's eye I could see short day hops of 50 to 60 nautical miles shaping our summer.  Our first shakedown sail to Portopalo however, which is on the SE tip of Sicily and a minor staging post for cruisers to head east, went very smoothly. So smoothly in fact that we sailed the next 36-hour leg to Crotone in Calabria unfazed by the idea we might hit a semi-submerged container and sink. A lot of mind games in this sailing business. 

Crotone was not only on the way but was a stop for some necessary out of the water maintenance, which was overdue as a consequence of the dreaded plague delaying things.  The boatyard visit coincided with a minor heatwave and we found ourselves two meters above the concrete storage heater, the yard floor, in 38° Celsius heat for 10 days. My blood must have thinned a lot recently, as I don't remember it worrying me that much. Well, aside from the one afternoon when I was doing something on the electrics and the sweat pouring off my forehead just about shorted out the batteries.

After being very well looked after by Elio and his team we sailed away the following week, noticeably slippery and achieving much better speeds. We charted some familiar waters and ports along the way stopping briefly at Gallipoli, Santa Maria di Leuca and Otranto before we got to Brindisi, where we moored just under the steps at the end  - or the beginning - of the Appian Way. No cheap jokes about all roads leading to Rome here. Many centuries of opposing rulers have left their mark here too and while there are many beautiful buildings, it is a hard-working port and the grime and some ugly architecture of the twentieth century tend to dilute the beauty. Nevertheless, there are some gems nestled between the concrete and one's eye focuses on them.

Final touches before re-launching	Some salutary lessons there
San Giovanni al Sepolcro - Brindisi	An ugly rudder to fallen sailors - Brindisi

The Appian Way - Brindisi

The harbour, in the shape of a deer's head, supposedly where the name originates is a fantastically well-protected place so we took the opportunity to leave the boat and catch a train a little way up the coast to visit Monopoli, which we intended to do anyway, but which has a time limit on the harbour wall.  It is a real picture-postcard village and its pedestrian zone is like an extended boutique, quaint as it is crowded. We had a very pleasant lunch in the company of hugely affable strangers, all bound by the same desire to celebrate the good life. We returned by boat a couple of days later and made use of the harbour wall, which is slightly limiting in that strictly speaking one person has to remain on the boat at any one given time.

Heading further northwest up the coast we passed Polignano a Mare, where we had hoped to stop and anchor, but the conditions made it untenable. Polignano is one of those ridiculously picturesque places that looks entirely different from sea level than when photographed from a drone at the golden hour for Instagram.  This 'beauty-on-demand' feature is not good for expectations that are tempered by reality. 

Our plan B was Mola di Bari, which I only mention fleetingly as a favour to fellow sailors because I would advise you to avoid it if at all humanly possible. Despite the new harbour breakwater which imparts a sense of confidence and protection, the swell came in around the corner to such an extent that in the night we thought we may capsize. In the end, the only damage was to a picture that came off the wall and our judgement which had been thrown into doubt. We left before dawn to escape and find shelter in Bari. The drama, we thought, would end the minute we entered the old harbour and, we were at least half right.  The quay in the harbour is not controlled and is supposedly free to boats in transit for 72 hours, while the rest of the basin is too shallow for us to anchor.   We stayed for 2 nights and were grateful for the shelter and even the bizarre company of the fishermen who unloaded the bowels of their vessels right next to us at all hours. During the early hours of the third night, my sixth sense picked up that we were moving.  I got up very quickly and saw that we were untied and drifting toward the shallow end of the harbour and beyond that the open sea. Someone had released our lines and while it felt pretty dramatic at the time, we were only about a boat length away from our original spot.  I hurriedly started the engine and nudged us back averting any further drama. Neither of us got any sleep after that and as soon as was sensible we headed for a marina a mile or two away in the new harbour.

Pasta Ladies of Bari Vecchia	Square of the Inamorati - Bari
Table with a view - Vrnik	Croatian Sailrite convention

This inauspicious start to our stay led to a surprisingly memorable week for all the right reasons.  The old town is a vibrant place with lots of activity day and night. The cobbled alleyways opposite the imposing Norman Fort, host a number of ladies who sit at makeshift stations outside their homes making mostly Orecchiette pasta and Taralli.  It is a slightly contrived scene, yet they supply tourists and restaurants alike.  At night the Piazzas come alive with street food and informal restaurants, frequented by locals and tourists. The local families spill out of their homes and watch the unfolding spectacle. The modern 'Murat' quarter is as McDonalised as any other city so we gave that a miss to hire a car and spend some time inland.  We ended up in Altamura, which has an ancient baking tradition, a beautiful Cathedral and is where Mercadante was born.  You can gloss over this last fact if you didn't study music history or play the flute.  We pushed on to Matera after savouring a delectable Foccacia and spent the rest of the day wandering up and down the warren of alleys connecting these iconic erstwhile cave dwellings. Situated on the side of two steep canyons this otherworldly place was host to a troglodyte population from pre-historic times until it was evacuated in 1952 due to squalor, disease and crumbling structures.  Predictably, it is now home to numerous boutique hotels and Airbnb properties.  

Bari Cathedral

Some 20 nautical miles further west-northwest along the coast lies Trani, our next stop.  I have to admit it is a city of which I was as ignorant, as I was pleasantly surprised. Visually it is stunning and the locally quarried limestone has a tinge with a special warm luminance that mimics the photographer's golden hour, but all day long.  It is one of Italy's smaller cities and along with its charm it has a rich and interesting history. The Cattedrale di San Nicola Pellegrino stands out and, in my mind, aesthetically has few equals.  Less obvious is the history of the Jewish community here, which reached a peak in the Middle Ages and four synagogues served the significant minority population. This until the fall of Apulia to the Kingdom of Naples, when all remaining Jews were forced to convert to Christianity and the synagogues were converted into Churches. The 13th Century Scola Nova Synagogue was handed back to the Jewish community only a couple of dozen years ago and is now the oldest functioning synagogue in Europe.

Our stay in Trani was only two days, leaving us with an appetite to return.  We did need to move on, however, as it was becoming increasingly clear that the weather was against us more frequently than it was for our plan of pushing on to Venice. Local opinion, in each marina, echoed the view that one should cross over to Croatia to be in the lee of the wind.

Santa Maria Assunta - Altamura	Altamura DOP Durum wheat
Matera - Basilicata	Vieste - looking towards Croatia

We decided to go as far as Vieste which sits on the eastern promontory of the mainland and hosts the Gargano National park. Once a battleground for all the usual marauders, today it asserts itself as a tourist destination, with long clean beaches and leafy campsites.  Our intention to anchor until we made a decision about our next stop was, once again, thwarted by an uncomfortable swell from which we could not escape.  The Tremiti islands as idyllic as they look, are a fairweather destination and we soon realised that sailing up the east coast to Venice in this weather pattern was a fool's errand. We could have motored, but the idea of that didn't seem appealing at all.  So, with little hesitation, we changed our minds and headed straight across the Adriatic to Croatia and, after a glorious sail, arrived at Lastovo.  This tiny island is part of an archipelago that has national park status and as a result, is as clean as it is pricey. The check-in process was painless, contrary to much that is written about it. The customs agent arrived within an hour of us calling him and the harbourmaster was friendly enough given we were going to separate him from his Friday afternoon sundowner. Grumpy tidings of the need for cash and the complexity of the cruising tax,  are not to be believed and we were soon able to head a mere mile away to a gloriously peaceful and clean cove with plenty of space to ourselves, in water that was crystal clear.  Such was the sense of calm there that we stayed for over a week before setting off for a small bay on the north of the island where we moored up on the jetty of a restaurant that offered completely free shelter in exchange for expensive food. Well, not that expensive, given that they served the tastiest lobster linguini ever.  Truth be told, I could have stayed here for the duration of our prepaid month's cruising tax, but one doesn't sail alone and being sedentary doesn't sit well with all of us.

Croatia as a sailing destination is a story of two halves. One is free and one is not. Seeking out the former is part of the sport and since we had paid to be in the national park for nearly two weeks, we looked for shelter where there were no fees.  We started at the northwest end of Korcula for a night until the NW wind came in and we had to move to a little bay replete with a beach bar and mini-market.  Uvala Prizba played host to us for a week, during which time few other yachts came to share the anchorage, just leaving the lively beach, windsurfing school and occasional jet-ski to compete with the calm.  Languid days of swimming, eating and the occasional land visit flew by until a forecast South Easterly made us move to Vrnik, a little island just opposite a place called Lumbarda where, completely coincidentally, we had spent a while more than a decade ago doing a stay and sail course.  

 

Yachties generally agree that places can be categorised as A, B or C spots.  Predominantly we avoid A spots.  They cause budget recalibration and the people who feel comfortable there are usually not the type around whom we feel at home. Vrnik was probably a C spot nevertheless, we spent the best part of a week there again.  The islet itself is pretty inaccessible and that is part of the appeal. We took the dinghy around the north side for a wander the one day as there are no paths to cross it and found a quaint, run-down tavern to enjoy a glass of local white.  I think that the saying Caveat Emptor was coined on this shore, as when we got the bill for the wine and mineral water, I had to check the exchange rate again to make sure I understood that it amounted to €60.  The philosophical side of me reckoned the only way to get over the shock was to tell the story about 12 fold and assign a nominal €5 return to each time. I feel much better after that and am down to about €45. 

Okuklje - as good as it gets.

This habit of a week here and a week there soon had an impact on the number of days remaining in our month and we needed to make a decision about what to do. Until that point, we had pretty much excluded the northwest from our agenda, although for a figurative minute we were distracted by an offer of concerts that Catherine received, which would have meant a sail to Split for the airport. This lasted for as long as the logistics proved to be just too tricky, so we reverted to the original arc of our journey and focused on moving southeast. We had had Mljet in our sights before, but I mistakenly thought the whole island was a national park, where the fees can be KN800 a night to moor somewhere.  Well, firstly, only the northwest is a park and anyway, 800 sounds worse than it is when you get a calculator out and convert it to real money.  We headed to another Konoba (Tavern with a jetty) in a little place called Okuklje. Pleasing for a number of reasons; shelter, tranquillity and unusually a better balance between vowels and consonants.  When you visit places like Vrnik, or especially Krk, you start to worry about the vowels. 

This was definitely a B spot and, until the charter boats arrived on day 3, we were completely alone. Their arrival coincided with the approach of some gloomy weather being forecast in the coming days, so we sought shelter a few miles away at a tiny upmarket C spot in the bay of Kobas. Known for its fantastic shellfish and proximity to Ston, we savoured the delights of Luka's Konoba, both the excellent food (especially oysters) as well as his sardonic humour. Sadly we missed the opportunity to visit Ston. The weather and time were not in our favour and, against a backdrop of promises to visit it next season, we made a semi dash past Dubrovnik and anchored at Cavtat near the border. 

Our Lady of the Rock - Kotor Montenegro

By this time we had decided to go to Montenegro and Cavtat, being a port of entry, gave us the most convenient place to clear out of Croatia and sail against the wind for a not unreasonable 8 hours in order to get to Porto Montenegro.  Thunderstorms were on the horizon, literally, so the easy check-in at the marina was very welcome. We stayed in this safe berth for two days while the storm blew over. 

Either the forecasts have been very reliable, or our ability to read them much improved, whichever the case we knew that being tied up in a marina that Saturday night was an essential idea. 

This was reinforced when we went out to dinner and within minutes were just about blown off our feet by the squall that came through, disrupting the power supply to the restaurant and leaving us with a chance candlelit meal. Better than the anchoring alternative on this occasion. 

While at the hugely upmarket marina in Tivat we took the opportunity to stock up and have a look around.  This marina was voted the best superyacht marina of the year and is host to some well-known oligarch toys - all a bit irrelevant to us.  It was not long at all after arriving before we were offered a winter mooring and we were tempted for a few minutes. The setting of the high mountains all around is a clue to the fact that there are fierce katabatic winds here and in the winter the shower blocks close at night as the pipes freeze. That last point on its own is enough to turn any fairweather resident away. 

 Escaping the glitz and glamour, we made our way a mile or two south to a quiet anchorage next to an island that is overgrown now but once housed a Club Med before the war.   Both Croatia and Montenegro have visible reminders of the conflict: from submarine pens to pockmarked and derelict buildings to badly camouflaged fortifications. With little industry to speak of the need for tourism is clearly understood here.  Everything in the bay of Kotor is a day's sail away, so we decided to base ourselves here. Tivat was an easy dinghy ride, so provisioning was easy. 

It came time to leave through a combination of weather and our cruising tax coming to an end. The trip back was just over 500 nautical miles, but as with all such return journeys, it seemed shorter.  With one wary eye on the storm forecast, we visited some familiar haunts;  Brucoli, Catania, Marzamemi and finally our home berth in Marina di Ragusa.  We didn't make Venice this year, but we know there is still a spot at the San Giorgio Maggiore yacht harbour waiting for us, it is only a question of how the wind blows next time.

If we are in Marzamemi we are nearly home