Mazara del Vallo to Sardegna

The sailing season started in early May for us this year as we set off from Marina di Ragusa (MdR) and

Last minute preparations - laundry mostly

made our way west along the now familiar coastline of the south of Sicily and anchored outside Licata. While we found the marina a pleasant enough place on our visit at the end of the season last year, we started out determined to spend more time at anchor this season, something with which we would have varying degrees of success, but that story will unfold on its own. Day two saw us motor sailing to Mazara del Vallo and we thought to ourselves we could really do with less engine time too.

Mazara del Vallo

Mazara lies a little to the south east of Marsala and its unassuming port masks the entrance to a town with a rich and colourful history. There is a strong Arabic influence, which is visible in the architecture, fragrances of the spice shops and restaurants. You could be in Marrakesh with the streets decorated with colourful tiles embedded in walls and died fabric suspended in mid air for no apparent reason other than to make a bohemian statement.


An unassuming entrance hides a gem of a theatre, which has all the characteristics of its grand cousin in Milan, but on a miniature scale. Despite seating barely one hundred it has three tiers ornately clad with reclaimed wood from old fishing vessels. The largest fishing fleet in Italy is supposedly based here, but there was little evidence of that. Maybe they were out poaching in Tunisian waters as they are supposedly wont to do, or perhaps that it is just a tale of a bye-gone era. The connection to Tunisia, which is just 80 nautical miles to the south west, is strong and a migrant population that enriches the local culture here sends its children to schools supported and run by Tunis, to further Arab language and cultural education. A hot potato subject just about anywhere else today, this seems to bring no visible signs of tension. Perhaps the challenge of carving out a living and just getting along with each other focuses the mind away from issues that cause friction for the sake of it.

Teatro Garibaldi

Are we in Tunis?

or Marrakesh?

Just near the port there is a small museum that houses a remarkable bronze statue, the Dancing Satyr of Mazara, from 400 B.C. It was found by fishermen some twenty years ago between Sicily and Tunisia and, after a four year restoration and a tour of Italy, it returned to Mazara and is carefully preserved and beautifully displayed in a converted church. I am not an expert on bronzes, nevertheless I can't quite imagine how the art has improved much in the intervening years. Upon reflection we spent too little time here but we were looking for a good weather window to cross to Sardinia as Catherine's first patch of work was only a couple of weeks away. So, we set off for the Egadi Islands off the western tip of Sicily.

Greek Bronze Satyr

We headed for Favignana which this early in the season looked deserted and forlorn. A very unsuccessful attempt at finding a beautiful anchorage saw me damage the rudder and have to make a very ungraceful and hasty exit. After calling Tony at Vento di Maestrale in Trapani for help on an inevitable repair we spent a night at anchor in the next bay, Cala Azzura, which was more like frozen black ink than Azzura. None of the buoys were set yet and I had visions of the anchor becoming fouled between concrete buoy blocks to add to our woes. The wisdom of the Pilot books and their view on the protection for the swell was less than accurate and we spent an extremely rolly night on the hook. This idea of spending more time at anchor seemed like a foolhardy and unachievable one at best.

Pragmatism only just overtaking me being furious with myself, we set off early on Sunday back to the by now familiar Trapani. Our last visit here was in a violent Scirocco with 62 knot winds raging for days. This time the only thing raging was me at my own idiocy. A generalisation I know, but a hallmark of people you get to meet in these parts, is that they are ever friendly and helpful. We were soon in very good hands and Rocko was lifted at a boat yard in the harbour to reveal a damaged rudder albeit not as damaged as my ego.	Familiar views north of the Trapani peninsular
Like new again	We were assured that the repair would be done by the end of the week and allowing for some scepticism around that timing, I thought we would be back on track to get to Sardinia on time. Well, true to their word we were back in the water on Friday and ready to leave on Saturday. I don't know of many boatyards where the owner produces his own olive oil and gives you a complimentary bottle with the bill.  It is a very effective way of taking your mind of the damage for a minute or two.
Instead of trying to be all smarty pants about the crossing and get 12 miles closer by anchoring off one of the other Egadi islands, we decided enough of that and set off from Trapani at a civilised 7 am. For the first eight hours we had a nice 20 knot North Easterly and that, together with the current, meant we were screaming along at 9.6 knots over ground. After that died down the dolphins came out to play along with a large turtle just visible in the dusk.	Sailling into the night towards Villasimius

We got to the south eastern tip of Sardinia after 28 hours and anchored in one of the idyllic bays at Villasimius. The rocking was ridiculous though so we decided to capitulate and go into the marina for a few nights before we headed closer to Cagliari where Catherine had a flight to catch.

First glimpse of Sardegna with its pristine waters and beaches

Castellammare and Trapani with a taste of Marsala

Much as we didn't want to, we had to leave Palermo and move on to our next stop, Castellammare del Golfo. At this time of the year it is a sleepy place and not a single umbrella is to be seen on the long white beach. This felt more like the level of activity we had become accustomed to and we spent a very relaxing couple of days here. One hour of which was spent at the top of the mast sorting out a wiring issue and releasing the spare halyard which had become stuck. This is an activity usually reserved for someone much lighter than me, but given that Catherine would rather be in control of the winch (and my fate) than be 20 meters up in the air on a rocking piece of aluminium, it fell to me to pretend I was fearless. I do quite a good impression - on the outside.

Arrival view of Castellammare	Co-skipper's reading room
A shrine to plasterers	Restaurants a plenty

As the timetable to get to Ragusa started to catch up with us we left two days later for Trapani, a town neither of us had heard of, but which we discovered to be a charming place. In this instance though safe refuge was probably the main quality we shall remember it by. We had seen bad weather forecast and since we knew it was the kind where you can't even leave the boat, we took the opportunity to visit Marsala by car before things got windy. After working out the pedals and mirrors and indicator thingies we set off  - I haven't driven a car in months. Of course we went Marsala tasting too and some preconceived notions of the wine being a sickly sweet cooking tipple for chicken were soon dispelled when we tasted an ancient blend made according to the Soleras method. A word of advice, "Fine Marsala" is the lowest quality and is to be avoided.

Marsala

5000 litre barrels of Marsala

We made our way back to Trapani and the marina in the evening and found that the Ormeggiatore had moved our boat from the external SE facing pontoon to an inner NW facing one to make room for a 66ft Oyster. This turned out to be very fortuitous as early the next morning, exactly as predicted, the low pressure system kicked in and the Scirocco started blowing with a vengeance. Well, actually it started with what we later thought was quite a gentle 35 knots, as in the afternoon it was gusting past 50 knots and making life for the Oyster and his neighbours on the outer pontoon very bumpy. So much so, in fact, that the pontoon snapped in half. the Ormeggiatori were amazing and were able to secure everyone, despite some boats breaking cleats as well as multiple mooring lines. I had switched off the instruments but the chap opposite told me he had measured 60.5 knots. In the morning it all seemed to have returned to relative calm. I looked at the reading and it was only 30 knots... there is a palpable sense the season is drawing to a close.

Broken Pontoon

Christian fixing in the morning

Bumpy for some

Since the sea takes a day or more to settle down after this kind of wind, we took the opportunity to visit Erice, which is not far away. The village is perched on a hilltop 750 metres above sea level and on a clear day you can see Tunisia. This was not a clear day though and we could barely see to the bottom of the hill. We managed to dodge most of the tourists and spent a couple of hours there before returning to the marina and preparing for our sail the next morning. As it turned out a number of us were leaving very early in the morning, some for Sardinia, some for Malta and one for Gibraltar so we gathered at the marina cafe and had a few beers before getting an early night.

Trapani polished	..yet to be polished,
playful,	..life's a beach.

ERICE

A morning in Palermo

Serpotta Ceiling in Palermo

Today instead of our staple Muesli we went in search of, and I kid you not, ice cream filled brioche for breakfast. It took us a while to find, what with all the distractions along the way, but we finally got there and enjoyed this incongruous but delicious treat at lunchtime.
But let me start at the beginning. After sticking my nose in a couple of chandlers we got waylaid by a nautical bookshop, which leaped out at us and held us captive for more minutes and Euros than we had planned. All in all, a nice divertimento. Our dog-eared analogue map, still refused to reveal the location of a famous purveyor of the above mentioned indulgence though and despite some significant recent experience in navigation we realised we had to ask someone. So we headed toward where there seemed to be some commotion going on. As we rounded the corner we came across a large crowd of people standing silently in the street and on the steps of the church opposite. It was clearly not the moment to ask any of the bystanders what was going on. This was, and is, mafia territory and curiosity killing the cat is no longer just a funny cliché. Anyway, our interest piqued, we stood there for a while and realised that the many young adults wearing white t-shirts with a girl’s face printed on them signalled that this was a sombre and sad occasion. Some minutes later, accompanied by applause and large bunches of white balloons a white coffin was carried out of the church doors on the shoulders of six young men.

Funeral in Palermo	Mourning fireworks
Anti Mafia Tour	Businesses against racketeering

As the amplified sound of Ave Maria sung on the steps, to the accompanying release of balloons and white doves into the clear blue autumn sky began, all eyes for a centro storico block welled up. Some barely audible words about the young person’s life drew repeated peals of applause until there was total silence in the proceedings. This was then broken by a series of deafening firework rockets being shot into the air as if to catch the fast disappearing balloons. As the cortege moved on we, and the other bystanders, caught our breath and tried to remember what had brought us here in the first place. Finding the restaurant was not really a priority anymore but nevertheless we enquired where it was and at the same time gently asked about the funeral. An ‘18 year old girl’ was all we heard. As the by now small crowd dissipated with lumps in throats still evident, we walked silently in the direction of familiar streets.

Oratory Courtyard

Oratorio di Santa Cita

Not a hundred yards up the cobbled alley we passed a very trendy looking tourist information point and looked in to ask about the puppet theatre we were thinking of going to later. The tiny shop, it turns out, is home to an independent business that offers both tourist information and a brokerage for services like: vintage Vespa hire, personalised cooking courses, baby equipment rental, and more. The one that caught my eye was the “Anti Mafia Day Tour”. ‘Is that really a thing these days?’ was soon set straight by a swift history lesson by Martha, the manager. The tour is run under the auspices of Addiopizzo which grew out of a civil rebellion that boldly rejected the protection rackets and the pizzo – protection money. Their orange X logo on shop and restaurant doors signifies this defiant stance. Strength in numbers has meant that as an association they are growing and Sicilians proudly support these establishments. Ultimately the mafia prefers to operate where there is less hassle and since the Addiopizzo movement bravely and diligently reports every transgression to the police they live in relative peace and quiet. It works in part of course because others still kowtow and pay the pizzo.

More puppets than Westminster

Barbiere di Sevilla

Musical strings

The history is fascinating and complex, but she explained, while it is still current, it is not like the dark days of the 1980s. ‘Those guys don’t go around the streets shooting at each other anymore, they sit in the Parliament now’. Her own brush with the local Don sounds like folklore she admits, but just ten years ago while moving into a local apartment she was summoned and ‘interviewed’ to see if she posed some threat or other to his business plan. It may sound scary, but the other side of it is that if people have a problem they don’t go to the city council. The local mafia sorts it out. This can even be for such mundane things as garbage that hasn’t been collected. Mundane, but pervasive based on my observation.

Street food

One portion?

Chestnuts

These areas are gradually being re-gentrified and as this happens million Euro apartments are to be seen in their former glory right next to ones where families with no money and living in squalor steal electricity from the grid with jumper cables. This stark contrast is part of the grit and charm of Palermo though and tolerance and coexistence is woven into the fabric of the society here.

Frida Khalo Pizza

Ice Cream Brioche

Our discussion was interrupted by a Kiwi chap wishing to print a boarding pass so we said our goodbyes and continued our fast disappearing morning. Just a few blocks further on we found a great little Cioccolateria that served brioche with ice cream for breakfast – at mid-day. It seems a little trivial to go into the details of this offering now, but it is delicious with Nocciola and Pistacchio and worth a detour to find. As we paid for the cappuccini and brioche we realised it must be lunchtime already.

The neglected	awaiting restoration
the cared for	the opera house

Not much further away is a restaurant that serves typical street food either take-away or table service and which had been totally full the evening before so we thought we might see if we could get a seat. We did, right next to Tommy – the boarding-pass-printing-Kiwi from the tourist office. Tommy, it turns out, is a restaurateur in Wellington and owns a chain of Pizzerias. He is about to open a pasta place and was on a foodie ‘research’ trip (I know the kind). We spoke about pizza dough hydration levels and bulk fermentation periods while eating delicious street food and drinking crisp Sicilian white at one of the oldest restaurants in Palermo, Antica Focacceria San Francesco, a founding member of the Addiopizzo movement. I glanced at my watch, it wasn’t even 2pm.

Leaving Mount Pellegrino behind for Castellammare