Rekindling our Wanderlust

Fontana Diana: Siracusa

Gosh it's May already, and a number of things happen in May. We have a spate of family birthdays, the significance of which being the increase in the generation gap until a bit later in the year when the rest of the clan catch up. Analogously, we, in the northern hemisphere get to witness the effects of the Jetstream and how the gap between the polar and subtropical vortex and the boundary layer they create affect our weather and, hopefully, create a stable summer pattern. Furthermore our marina winter berth contracts expire and a needs must impetus drives a flurry of activity designed to break this sedentary state and rekindle our wanderlust. 

This air of celebration, anticipation and excitement, however, masks an element of sheer panic and dread. As Parkinson’s law dictates, work expands so as to fill the time for its completion, and nowhere else is this more evident than in the realm of yacht preparation and maintenance. Some, in the ‘Steady Eddie’ class, arrive at the end of a sailing season ready to tackle their reams of tasks daily and diligently, while others (like me) approach this work-life balance in a manner which rather eschews this circumspection. The end result is pretty similar for all of us though and consequently the seasonality of our chosen lifestyles is once again brought into sharp focus as we scramble to get ready by the end of April.

Last minute UV repairs	Weather research
Last sunset at our home port	Our Daily Bread

             

*Wine notes

A boat and the environment in which it exists voids certain intuitive principles. A little known high ranking official in the Jimmy Carter administration, one Thomas Bertram Lance, is credited with having coined the phrase, "if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it". I know little about the private life of the late Mr Lance, but despite that what I can tell you is that he would have made a lousy sailor. In our world, if it ain’t broke, it probably will be tomorrow or later today in fact, so fix it while you have access to shore power, spares and a working fridge. 

*Just as an aside, dehydration is a terrible thing and all engineers understand the principle of using enough cooling fluid. Sicily has a particularly crisp range of fluids mostly grown on the slopes of Mount Etna and available in such varieties as Catteratto and Nerello Mascalese, to name but two. 

 

Wanderlust (buy a new hat)

This May, the beginning of the sort of post Covid/Green Pass era, has been characterised by two contentious events. Health authorities abandoning the face mask mandate, but that surprisingly overshadowed by a recent water shortage, precipitated by an extended dry period and a pump that failed. The weather and weak Jetstream have played a key role in exacerbating the local ire that the latter has caused, in that strong winds from the South East have driven sand-pit quotas of the Sahara and neighbouring beach onto each of our floating homes.  Much like the recent local elections in the UK however, I have adopted a bit of an I couldn't care less approach. This has been very helpful and has allowed me to focus on increasing my stress levels by worrying about whether our outboard engine is going to start after a dreadful period of procrastination, during which I had visions of rowing for half a nautical mile each time we wanted to go ashore in Siracusa. 

Engine woes are always relative

Armed with a can of fresh petrol and a bucket of water (to dunk the propeller in lest the engine overheats), I finally plucked up the courage to tackle this fretful task: semi-safe in the knowledge that our impending departure window would allow enough time for me to dismantle and clean the carburettor, lean on a friend or worst case fail spectacularly by having to call in a service engineer. 

There is none so optimistic as I when grabbing the pull cord for the first yank, whether it be after a day or seven months of inactivity. After several pulls and to my increasing despondency, I observed the choke, which was where it should have been and the throttle, which was also just right. The winter months had obviously played havoc with my memory though, as I stared at the little red button and realised the kill cord, which I had so neatly stored away, was still in the chart table (eejit). Mere seconds later the trusty steed sprung into life literally at the first pull. In a heartbeat, in my mind we were now ready to set off for the season. 

 

Musical Sentinels: Siracusa

Friday, albeit the 13th, promised a good breeze and we set off calmly toward Portopalo di Capo Passero, not to be confused with Porto Palo which is in Agrigento or Porto Pollo which does not exist but is easier to pronounce for some reason, probably because it is evocative of a chicken dish. The harbour was teeming with boats from our marina, as it is used as a dispersal point, which afforded us the opportunity to celebrate one more birthday joined by a host of other sailors. The next day we went ashore in search of a restaurant recommended by Sebastiano, one of our marineros, and the one year older, polyglot in our midst, Catherine, managed to persuade the patron that his restaurant was in fact not full at all and that he would be able to fit us in. 

Market fare

It was just as well as we were served some excellent crudo, (raw seafood) and then some very tender and delicious tuna. The village itself  is somewhat forgettable and drab, although iPhone cameras do a super job of tarting it up. Winds beckoned the next afternoon and we made some very good headway north before a bit of a lull in the breeze, which coincided with us being confronted by a scene of at least a score of refugees on board a yacht of about our size, being bundled onto a coast guard vessel. This is a sobering sight for anyone, especially a sailor,  and whatever your belief system, you certainly don’t ever want to end up in that situation. The sea was flat thankfully and there seemed to be little danger to life or limb. Some while later they passed us as they sped toward the mainland we think, upbeat music blaring loudly and the refugees visibly animated. Only the Italian coast guard! ‘They are in a shit position, let’s turn up the volume and cheer them up!’ Humanity here may occasionally have a bureaucratic tinge, but in Sicily it is invariably worn on the sleeve. 

Temple, Cathedral, Mosque, Cathedral.

After a subdued approach we entered the bay of Siracusa, bounded by the beautiful island of Ortigia, birthplace of Archimedes. It is a breathtaking place that has been witness to nigh on three millennia of human comings and goings. The Duomo incorporates 5th century BC Doric columns and it spent a couple of centuries being a mosque too, before the Normans came and put their stamp on things.  Its water on the other hand is slightly murky, but anchors really dig in here and you are able to sleep secure in the knowledge that you will wake up the next morning exactly where you expected to be, namely half a nautical mile from one of the best markets in the Mediterranean.