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.

Tropea, Scilla, Siracusa back to Marina di Ragusa

Santa Maria del Isola - Tropea

We arrived at Tropea quite early in the day having left Cetraro just after 2 am having successfully managed to dodge a couple of thunderstorms in the Tyrrhenian sea along the way.  I have a thing about lightning and do whatever I can to avoid it, evidenced by any amount of apps I have that pinpoint strikes. As we bobbed about for a while deciding whether to anchor out or go into the marina we were buzzed by the Guardia di Finanza in a menacing speedboat. They chose the wrong moment and person (not me) as they were told to back off and follow us in if they wanted to see any paperwork. They duly obeyed and hovered around us for ages before they got our documents and then took the best part of an hour to decipher the difference between our surnames and first names. If it were not for the fact that they can cause untold grief one may have made an attempt at more humour.
Tropea held many pleasant memories for us after our last visit almost exactly a year ago and we enjoyed revisiting its picturesque cobbled alleyways at the top of a ridiculous number of steps. I really wanted to go back to the fishing tackle shop and notify the owner that his recommendation of a particular lure, after having ridiculed me for what I had been using, had been useless, as in almost 1800 nautical miles I had caught nothing. Nothing. Ok, so I hadn't put the line out for most of the time, but still, there was no need to poke fun at me. His shop was closed though, probably went out of business,  poetic justice I thought to myself.

Scilla 

Our next stop a few days later was Scilla, which we had tried to visit last year, but were unable to find a spot. We called in advance this time and got just about the last buoy as things were winding down for the end of the season.  We were really glad we were able to stop here as it is a beautiful place. We stayed for a few days avoiding the bad weather that was ahead of us and tried to get the timing right for the Messina Strait this time around. It can go 5.5 knots for or against you if you don't pay attention and last year we had not paid attention.
We then made our way south towards Taormina, but the swell was so huge that we gave up on the idea of anchoring or being on a buoy there and headed on to Riposto which we reached after an eight hour day of rolling seas. The harbour is a combination of derelict pontoons and a quite well organised marina, the former being signs of an ownership dispute and the complexities of local politics about which one tends not to speak too openly in Sicily. This fronting a relatively tourist-free working town with buzzing fish markets, all under Etna's slopes. Etna was quite active last year even causing flights to be cancelled, but it was dormant and barely visible under a table cloth of cloud when we were there. Whereas we turn to the hose to clean our decks after a sandy desert rainfall, the winter liveaboards in Riposto reach for their vacuum cleaners when Etna's ash regularly creates a sooty layer on their boats.

Serious music in Siracusa

The bohemian quarter

Tuna man in Cossack gear

Our luck with the weather persisted and we left for Siracusa, arriving after they had had a week of rain, the very wet kind. The historical centre of Siracusa is on the small island of Ortygia, which is connected to the modern city by two bridges across a narrow canal. It has a very rich history dating back some 2700 years to Greek times and was a powerful city state then as well as the birthplace of Archimedes. It is a beautiful bustling city today with a lively market and lots of tourists. We have visited the market before and made a beeline for our favourite deli to stock up on all sorts of tasty delights. A deli in which you are sure to lose your heart if not your wallet as well. The gradual migration back to winter moorings meant we saw more and more friends along the way and in the Porto Grande in Siracusa. When we arrived Peter from Paikea welcomed us. We were also anchored near Susan and Tom of Sirena as well as Luda and Dave of Bobcat and we met up for a great evening together at a pizzeria under the entrance of the Duomo.

The old and the very old

Our favourite deli

End of season clouds

With only 60 or so nautical miles left to sail back to Marina di Ragusa now, we took our time and stopped off halfway in Portopalo at the south eastern tip of Sicily, and enjoyed a lovely sunset and meal as the sailing season drew to a close.  We had a calm last night at anchor nestled in the small harbour in the company of Dakini who had just sailed a long stretch and What's the Rush who we had been sailing alongside more or less since Amalfi. Next day we tried our best to sail in very light winds and, having time on our side, kept the engine off to enjoy the silence of a gentle, albeit slow sail.  The calm conditions made mooring up a relaxed affair and it was lovely to be greeted by familiar faces on the dock as we came in to our winter mooring on L dock.

Back in time for olive picking

Although the days are shorter now there is still no shortage of sunshine and the beach and outdoors still beckon. We had a relaxed week of preparing the boat for some of the winter tasks ahead interspersed with violin practice (for an upcoming project), olive picking at Giles', as well, of course, catching up with friends and swapping summer stories. I intentionally left our sails on before heading to Menton for two weeks, hoping the weather would be good enough for some extra sailing when we got back, either for a lunch at anchor somewhere along the coast or an excursion to Malta perhaps,  conditions permitting. Someone forgot to warn us that this is addictive.

Next destination, Menton