Sicily and the Aeolian Islands

We arrived at the Grand Harbor in the city of Siracusa (Syracuse) at about 1930 hours.  The setting cast a lovely glow on the handsome buildings in the old town.  The Grand Harbour quay was undergoing renovations, so we anchored in the large and well protected bay.  Celebrating our arrival in Sicily over sundowners, we could see the smoking cone of Mt. Etna directly to our north.   

The next morning we splashed the dinghy and made our way into town.  A small corner of the “marina” had been allocated for dinghy landing, making visits to the city convenient for us “anchor outs.”  The marina itself was a bit ramshackle and lacking any sort of breakwater or wave attenuator, offered no more protection than the anchorage. We made an enquiry we found out that it would cost us €140 per day plus power and water for a berth, and it wasn’t even high season.  Someone was definitely capitalizing on the closure of the 500 meter long Grand Harbour quay which had offered free berthing to visiting yachts.  

Siracusa was once considered to be the most beautiful city of the ancient world and it lives up to its reputation.  Along its narrow marble streets are an impressive array of buildings, many of which have been beautifully restored, showcasing the varying architectural styles of its long history.  Staking out a table at a cafe on the Piazza, we enjoyed an Italian coffee and some excellent people watching.  It was a Saturday and at least four groups of newlyweds and their wedding parties came down to the Piazza to have wedding photos taken in front of the town’s spectacular Duomo.  It was quite the fashion show!

Wedding photos at the Duomo, Siracusa

Entrance to the aquarium, Siracusa

Art on the Piazza, Siracusa 

We returned to town that evening for happy hour and went to a small bar recommended by a friend.  The wine was inexpensive and good and after awhile the bar was turned into a buffet of “appetizers.” Sampling our way through the plethora of Italian specialties, we found we soon had no more appetite for dinner. 

In town the next day we found the local market on a street at the edge of the old town.  On a street lined with crumbling buildings were stalls with vendors hawking fruits and vegetables, cheeses and sausages, meats and fish, herbs and spices, clothing and homewares, much as they probably did for the past few hundred years.  It was loud and crowded and all the combined aromas combined into an olfactory assault.  We picked up some provisions including some fresh tuna and swordfish from the Strait of Messina.  

Fishmonger at the local market, Siracusa

Once again we returned to town for dinner and found a lovely little garden restaurant called Il Cenacolo.   Shortly after we arrived it completely filled up with locals.  We enjoyed an incredible meal of two of the local specialties-fish soup and beef couscous.  The prices were very reasonable and the portions so huge we couldn’t finish it all. 

The fuel dock at Syracusa was in very tight quarters inside the marina, so we decided to head north to Augusta to take on diesel.  We tied up to the quay and one of the local men rang the proprietor of the fuel service who came down (on a Sunday) to turn on the pump for us.  She normally catered to the local fishing fleet so did not have facilities for accepting credit cards, but she was kind enough to drive me up to the only ATM in town so I could pull out some cash.  She even made us an espresso while we were pumping diesel.   After fueling we moved a couple miles north to Porto Xifonia where we found good protected anchorage for the night.   

While we were swimming and bathing off the swim step, I managed to whack my melon on the emergency rudder gudgeon, opening up an inch-and-a-half cut just below my hairline.  Dr. Merima applied butterfly bandages after which I applied two martinis to ease the pain.  Another boat bite and battle scar. 

Winds were light the next morning so we motored up the east coast of Sicily towards the enclave of Taormina. It was an uncharacteristically clear day and along the way we were able to see the whole of Mt. Etna, unobscured by the typical blanket of haze.  As we approached Taormina, we saw an unusually large mega yacht at anchor.  It looked a bit familiar and as we drew closer I recognised it as Bill Allen’s (the other Microsoft Bill-ionnaire) Tatoosh.  She’s around 200 feet overall and has a full compliment of toys including a 40-ish foot yacht strapped to the port side, a 40-ish foot sport fishing boat strapped to the starboard side and a helicopter on a pad aft.   We took anchorage amongst her and a few other mega yachts at the foot of the cliff below Taormina and there went the neighborhood.

Mt. Etna from the Strait of Messina

Approaching the enclave of Taormina

Tatoosh and her “toys” 

We set out in the cool of the next morning and walked up the steep, old and decrepit path/stairway up to town.  Taormina is a romantic medieval village perched upon a terrace.  With its bright flowers and frivolous Sicilian decor, it explodes with color.  Its position offers stunning views up and down the dramatic coastline and of nearby Mt. Etna.  We spent the morning exploring the narrow streets and checking out the chic and pricey shops on Corso Umberto, the main street through the old walled village.  Taormina was crawling with tourists until siesta time when it suddenly went.  We stopped for lunch at an excellent trattoria/pizzeria, had another wander through the quiet streets and then headed back down the hot trail to sea level before the afternoon rush.

A colorful side street, Taormina

Blossoms on the piazza, Taormina

An antique shop on the Corso Umberto, Taormina

Produce barrow, Taormina

Doors with Sicilian decoration, Taormina

Balcony decor, Taormina 

With the wind forecast at 8-9 knots through the Strait of Messina, we thought the following day would be an excellent time to shoot through to the Tyrrhenian Sea and the Aeolian Islands.  The forecasters got it wrong and within a half an hour of leaving Taormina, we were bashing into 30 knot headwinds and short steep seas.  If that wasn’t enough to deal with, we were constantly dodging the incessant ferry traffic steaming back and forth across the strait.  We found some relief by hugging the coast of Sicily until we passed the city of Messina.  At that point the winds rapidly moderated and by the time we made it the last few miles to Capo Peloro at the north end of the Strait, the winds were down to six knots and the seas were flat calm again.  With no clouds in the sky and no pressure gradient on the weather charts, we wonder how these weird weather systems can suddenly come and go. 

At Capo Peloro we hung a sharp left turn and headed out to the Aeolian Islands.   The islands get their name from Aeolis, the wind God, and are little more than seven volcanic cones poking out of the depths of the Tyrrhenian Sea.  The Aeolian Islands offer an interesting departure from coastal cruising in Italy.   Our first stop was the island of Vulcano, appropriately named as the main settlement, Porto Levante sits at the foot of an active volcano.  From its cone comes an endless trail of sulfuric steam and odiferous mud.  Down near sea level there are sulfur and mud baths, attracting a lot of rather unattractive tourists who subscribe to their therapeutic value.  While the anchorage offers the best protection in the Aeolian Islands against the prevailing westerlies, it is rather cozy and steep-to and can get very crowded, particularly during the high season.  When the wind shifted at night, we found the rotten egg smell from the baths a bit off-putting.  High speed ferries come and go all day long throwing up a sizeable wash in the harbor.  The town itself is rather uninspiring and the whole scene reminded me of one of the many outposts in the Sea of Cortez along the coast of Baja California.  With the weather settled, we found anchorage on the other side of the island at Porto di Ponente to be calmer, less crowded, less smelly and with an unobstructed view of some of the islands to the west, it was a prime position for taking in a nice sunset.

Anchored next to an active volcano, Isola Vulcano

 

Sunset in the Aeolian Islands  

In settled weather we headed northwest to the Island of Filicudi.   Reputed to be the most rugged and beautiful, it didn’t disappoint.  We anchored in Porto Filicudi where there were never more than two or three yachts.  The water was crystal clear and there were but a few people on the rocky beach.  The green volcanic cones bore many terraces, indicating that this island had been cultivated in ancient times.  The small port town was quaint and had just enough amenities to support those arriving or departing by ferry.  Most of the accommodation was in the village as short drive up the hill. 

The anchorage at Isola Filicudi

Lichen on the rocks, Filicudi 

We found the footpath leading from sea level to the main village and hiked up through the dense growth.  The village was quaint and reminded us of those in the Greek Cyclades Islands.  Views down to the harbour and the surrounding islands were spectacular.  We enjoyed the quiet of this place and spent a couple days hiking on the island trails, swimming and chilling out.  On a calm day we took the dinghy around to the SW corner of the island to see the Grotto del Bue Marina, a deep cave in the shoreline, and La Canna, an impressive rock pinnacle that juts 67 meters out of the water. 

At 0300 the next morning the wind began to pipe up and by late morning it was blowing nearly a gale.  It was apparent to us that this anchorage would not offer us much in the way of protection once the swell got up and started refracting around the north side of the island.  We picked up the anchor and sailed downwind to the village of Santa Marina on the island of Salina.  We anchored off the village for awhile but the swell was refracting around the island in both directions.   With gusty winds we found it to be very uncomfortable.  We made another downwind dash to the nearby island of Lipari where we were able to find reasonable anchorage off of an old pumice quarry near the town of Canneto.  It was far from the most attractive anchorage in the Aeolian Islands, but with a shallow sand bottom, we had good holding, plenty of room to swing, and got a reasonable night’s sleep. 

The next morning we headed to the main town of Lipari where we attempted to find anchorage.   While the protection from wind and swell was excellent, the shallow spots were quite crowded.  We attempted seven times to anchor in 15 to 20 meters but could not get firmly hooked.  The bottom was weed and quite foul.  We pulled up bags, old pipe, weed and other assorted rubbish.  We finally gave up and headed across the channel back to Porto Levante.  If it was crowded at least we would have decent holding while we rode out the blow. 

We were fortunate to find a good spot at Porto Levante and got hooked on the rocky bottom on the first go.  We spent a couple of days catching up on writing and maintenance while we waited for the weather to moderate.  We also amused ourselves witnessing the displays of anchoring etiquette (or lack of) by our fellow cruisers.   

The first, and most outrageous situation was when a 36’ Canadian flagged yacht dragged anchor.  With the boat drifting off to sea, the crew were lifting the anchor with a manual windlass-a slow and difficult task, especially considering all their chain rode was hanging in deep water.  The skipper of a British-flagged yacht saw their loss his gain and immediately lifted his anchor and moved to the better spot the Canadians had unintentionally vacated and set his hook.  Fortunately, the Canadians got their anchor up before they had drifted all the way to Sicily and were able to find another suitable spot just shoreward of where they had been.   

Later on, an Italian-flagged yacht came in and anchored (too) close to us.  Their idea of anchoring etiquette was to put out fenders, splash their dinghy and then head ashore to dinner.  That evening in a squall we all turned 90 degrees and they came within ten feet of us.  Speaking to the captain, he was not at all concerned, probably because he was on a chartered yacht.  I pointed out to him that while his was a charter boat, ours was our home.   He refused to move, but put out a kedge anchor giving us a bit more breathing room.  Winds were shifty that night and they were moving a lot.  Every time I woke up that night to check on things I noticed that he was in the cockpit keeping an anchor watch.   

An Austrian-flagged yacht came in and anchored too close to the aforementioned Italian yacht.  His solution to the problem was to tie his stern to a mooring occupied by a RIB-without permission and not knowing its capacity.  Very cheeky! 

One afternoon a large catamaran came in and attempted to anchor close to the shore in shallow water.  His anchor must have fouled that of a small yacht that had been there for a couple of days, as the small yacht, which was unattended, went heading out to sea.  The catamaran did manage to get a dinghy in the water and a man on the small yacht to attend to it.  The owner of the small yacht had been ashore and frantically rowed downwind to catch up to his boat.  Everyone got anchored again without further incident and the show was over for the day. 

With the decks washed by a bit of rain and the wind moderated, we headed northwest to the island of Panarea.  We found good anchorage off the town and for a few hours were the only yacht there.  By nightfall, the anchorage was reasonably full and the laid moorings were filled with punters taking advantage of the water taxi service into town. 

So far in Italy, it seems it is blowing a gale, or dead calm.  We rose the next morning and in no wind and flat calm water, headed for the mainland, passing close to the perfectly formed cone that is the island of Stromboli.  It is perpetually active and a bit of smoke can usually be seen wafting from its caldera.  We were due for a bit of marina time where we could clean the boat, do laundry and pick up a few provisions, so we headed to the little port town of Vibo Valentia. 

The caldera of Isola Stromboli smouldering in the breeze

Fourteen hours after departing the charming village of Cavtat on the southern coast of Croatia, we arrived in Brindisi, Italy, 118 miles to the south on the opposite coast of the Adriatic Sea.  The seas were flat calm all of the way, and the winds were mostly less than five knots.  For a short time they got up above ten knots and we actually set sails and turned off the engine, but it was a short-lived teaser.  For the second time, we dragged our fishing lure all the way across the Adriatic and caught nothing.  Fishing in the Med sucks! 

Situated on the heel of “the Boot” of Italy in the southern region of Puglia, Brindisi has long been a gateway to destinations to the east.  For us it was our second visit and it felt as comfortable as a well-worn shoe.  We tied up alongside the lengthy quay near the broad stairway that was once the terminus of the Via Apia or Appian Way, the ancient road to Rome.  We even managed to get a spot in reach of the lone fresh water standpipe, giving us the opportunity to wash down Moonshadow, do a load of wash and top up our tanks.  A couple of days later we were politely informed by a representative from a local yacht agency that this particular stretch of quay was “private” and there would be a charge to stay.  The only difference between the private area and the free public quay was a row of potted plants between the boats and the public walkway.  We didn’t feel that bit of luxury was worth €45 per day so we shifted down the quay 100 meters or so.

 

The steps at the terminus of the Via Apia, Brindisi

 

Check-in formalities were made easy by the fact that Merima could speak Italian to the authorities, and the friendly Polizia Frontera officers insisted we should not bother to check in with Customs.  They did want to come and sight the boat, but were shy when we invited them aboard.  They wouldn’t even go below when invited.  They said they wanted to be satisfied that we were not smuggling refugees from Africa or drugs from Asia but I think they were just enjoying having a chat on what would have otherwise been a quiet day at the office. 

Brindisi is a busy port city teeming with ferries that connect to Croatia, Albania, Greece, Turkey and Malta and as such is not the most attractive of Italian cities.  What it lacks in beauty it makes up for with its great vibe.  The picturesque old town is a maze of narrow streets paved in marble and granite cobbles, lined with lovely centuries-old buildings.  It is bisected by a handsome boulevard called Corso Garibaldi, which is lined with palm trees, cafes and rather nice boutiques.  With an excellent supermarket near the port end, it is very user friendly for cruisers wishing to provision. 

 

The Corso Garibaldi, Brindisi

 

Every evening at dusk the townspeople came out in droves for their evening passeggiata or stroll.   Fashionably-dressed singles, couples, families and friends have a walk, a chat and perhaps a gelato.  One of the best gelaterias in town, Betty’s, was temptingly close to us, offering up more flavors than Baskin and Robbins by smartly uniformed soda jerks who serve up a plethora of tempting dessert specialties.  We were in prime position for people watching and couldn’t help but notice the locals wearing a lot of purple garb-shirts, dresses, sweaters, pants, shoes and even hats and handbags.  Apparently purple is the new black this year-at least in Italy.  Remember where you read it first!

 

The evening passegiata along the quay, Brindisi

 

Betty’s Gelateria, Brindisi

 

One of our favorite things about Brindisi is that everyone with whom we came in contact was friendly, warm and helpful.  We went to a trattoria called La Locanda del Porto where we had enjoyed an excellent meal when we came through last September.  The proprietor remembered us and we had another excellent meal with a bottle of local Brindisi wine called Negro Amaro.  The smoked swordfish carpaccio was to die for!  A few days later we returned to another trattoria.  Again the proprietor remembered us and recommended an excellent local wine called Primitivo to accompany the excellent pizza.  

Brindisi still follows the tradition of closing each afternoon for “siesta” at 1:00.  Shops reopen at 4:30 and close for the evening at 8:00.   Virtually all shops are closed on Sundays and holidays except ones in the two large shopping malls situated out on the highway between Brindisi and Taranto.  

Getting out to the malls is no easy mission as we discovered last season.  It involves long waits for buses and in one case, doing the last mile or so on foot.  Taxis cost a fortune so in order to facilitate some serious provisioning at the Carrefour Mega Store and a minor wardrobe update, we hired a fix-it-again-Tony (Fiat) for the day and packed it to the headliner with groceries, Italian wine and summer attire.  Driving was fairly easy but the signage is confusing, if not completely wrong.  Leaving the mall, we followed the signs to get us back to Brindisi and only to make two complete laps around the parking lot arriving back where we started.  We decided to go in the opposite direction indicated on the sign and this of course took us straight to the highway heading to Brindisi. 

One evening at about sunset, a pair of buskers set up an electric piano, violin and a pedestal with a white rabbit on the quay just outside of Moonshadow.  The music was nice for awhile, but after an hour it became apparent that their repertoire was a bit thin.  After the fourth or fifth off-key round of “Feelings” it became torturous and we had to escape for a stroll and a gelato.  I’m not sure what the rabbit was for, but the kids all seemed to want to come up and pet it.

 

Music on the quay

 

The grib files were forecasting light northerlies, so after a relaxing week in Brindisi it was a good opportunity to start making our way south towards Sicily.  Conditions were calm so we motored all the way to Santa Maria di Leuca on the tip of the heel.  There is no suitable anchorage or public quay anywhere along this coast so we had to go into the marina.  I’m sure the marina owners are acutely aware of this fact as they charged us €111 for one night.  We took advantage of the water tap and gave the boat a bath and did a load of wash before sunset. 

We tossed off the lines early the following morning and made our way across the Gulf of Taranto to Capo Rizzuto where we found reasonable anchorage in a cove behind the cape that is designated as a marine reserve.  We’re not quite sure what they are protecting, as the sea bottom was little more than weed and rubble, and there was not a single fish to be seen.  At least the water was cool and clear and great for swimming.

 The next day we carried on to the sole of the boot and a town called Rocella Ionica.  It is a beach resort town with a small castle on the hill as a backdrop.  Conditions were so calm that we were able to comfortably anchor off the beautiful sand beach near the marina.  We were fortunate as some of the arriving yachts were having difficulty making it into entrance to the marina due to heavy silting.  Pressing on the following morning we set out in flat calm water and no wind.  Within a half hour the wind had piped up to the mid twenties gusting into the low thirties-something we hadn’t experienced since our time in the Aegean Sea.   We had a romping good reach hitting 10 knots at times but the wind gradually died out after an hour and we were back to burning more dinosaur juice.  

As we approached the Strait of Messina, the narrow patch of water between mainland Italy and the island of Sicily, we came upon one of the fishing boats specially rigged up for catching the swordfish migrating through the Strait. It was a thirty-something foot long fishing boat with a four-to-five storey tower in the middle and a prow extending at least 50 feet out from her bow.   There were two men in the tower looking for swordfish basking on the surface, while seated on the end of the long prow was a man with a spear gun.  Apparently when a fish is spotted, they would quietly sneak up behind it and the man up forward would harpoon the fish.  We don’t know whether or not they had any success, but we dragged a lure all the way across the Strait of Messina without getting a nibble. 

We arrived in the splendid old city of Siracusa (Syracuse) on the island of Sicily just in time for sundowners and dropped the hook in the large and well-protected Grand Harbour. 

 

Arrival in Siracusa

With more than 1100 ruggedly beautiful islands strung along its shoreline, Croatia’s 1100 mile Dalmatian Coast has become one of the most popular cruising destinations in the world.  We left Moonshadow in the ACI Dubrovnik Marina over the winter with plans to start the season with a cruise northwest up the coast towards Italy.

After a very busy month in the States catching up with family and friends in California and a week in New Orleans attending the Jazz and Heritage Festival, we returned to Dubrovnik to find Moonshadow looking a bit untidy from neglect, but in otherwise good condition.   

For the first time, our caretaker had done a less than stellar job of looking after our second home, adding to the workload of bringing her out of mothballs.  Nonetheless we were able to get Moonshadow back in cruising trim and provisioned in five days.  We were also spurred on a bit by the lofty cost of berthing.  Having been reverted to the casual rate of €100 (US $140) per day for berthing at ACI we were anxious to get out on the hook.  At those rates, we wouldn’t be spending much time as “dock potatoes” this season! 

Wanting to take things a bit easy and regain our sea legs, we headed out early in the morning before the prevailing northwesterlies kicked up and steered a course to the nearby Elaphite Islands.  At our first stop, the picturesque fishing village of Suðurad on the island of Šipan, the bottom was so covered in weed that we were unable to set our anchor after four attempts. Not a good omen for the launch of our cruising season and strike one against the Adriatic Pilot (2008 edition!) which had reported it as a “sand bottom.”  Plan B was a hop across the channel to the island of Lopud where we anchored in Uvala Lopud.  We spent a couple of days swinging on the hook off the picturesque old village, a cluster of rustic stone houses with terra cotta roofs, giving way to rock terraced gardens on the hillside behind, on top of which was perched the obligatory fortification.  We enjoyed a few strolls along the waterfront, sampled a couple of the local wines (good but rather expensive), caught up on a bit of cleaning and polishing and adjusted back to life on board.  The ambience was affected a bit by a noisy hotel construction project on one side of the bay with heavy equipment operating well into the evening.  Another sleepy little village waking up to tourism.

Suðurad harbor, Šipan Island

Uvala Lopud, Lopud Island

Moonshadow anchored in Uvala Lopud

Heading northwest again we were able to sail with the jenny most of the way to Luka Pola?e on the island of Mljet, much of which is a pristine National Park.  We were fortunate that the protection and holding were excellent as we had two days of what was most likely a Scirocco-a strong and dusty southwesterly wind that originates in the deserts of Africa.  We did manage to get ashore and hike to the other side of the island to visit a couple of saltwater lakes and hop a ferry to the island monastery of Santa Marija.  Along the way we had an Australian moment when we came upon and scared off a large brown snake that had been sunning itself on the trail.  

Colorful cruising under spinnaker and “awniker.”

After a couple days, the winds had moderated to around ten knots so we departed Mljet and headed to the Island of Korcula, sailing about half way until the winds dropped off.  We found good anchorage in Uvala Luka, a short dinghy ride away from the old walled city of Korcula.  The old town juts out into the sea on a small peninsula.  It is characterized by narrow streets and red-roofed buildings surrounding a piazza and a large cathedral situated in the middle of town. Atop the city wall is a tree-lined boulevard dotted with small indoor/outdoor cafes.  On Sunday morning it was quiet except for church goers.  We walked around and through the town in less than an hour.  One interesting feature was a bar located in one of the fortification turrets.  Patrons apparently climb a ladder to the top level and the drinks are hoisted up from the bar below using a hand dumbwaiter.  The view of the rest of the city and mainland Croatia across the channel must be spectacular.  Unfortunately it was closed on Sunday morning.  We found a café outside the old city walls which offered Greek coffee-a sweet, strong and a slightly muddy brew which we had come to enjoy in Turkey and Greece.  What we were served bore no resemblance and in fact tasted like the Irish Coffees served at the Buena Vista in San Francisco.  Not wanting to be rude, we started happy hour at 1030 hours!  We have come to learn that it is not uncommon for the Croats enjoy to their first beer or glass of wine after breakfast.

 

Korcula

The medievel walled city of  Korcula

We started early the next day so that we could make it to Hvar before the prevailing winds kicked up.  Hvar is reputed to be a hot spot and the small harbor can get very crowded so we wanted to get in early to secure a spot in the anchorage.  When we arrived there was ample room, but it took us three attempts to get the anchor set in the weed bottom.  It was once again incorrectly reported to be “mud, good holding” in the Adriatic Pilot-strike two. 

The anchorage filled up throughout the day, mostly with bareboat charter boats getting very cozy on short scopes.   One of them came in and anchored in front of us, right over our anchor, on a very short rode.  They ignored my “evils” and I, not wanting to be an ugly American, abstained from asking them to move.  No good deed goes unpunished as sure enough that night, when we were ashore enjoying a nightcap in a waterfront watering hole, the wind shifted 180?.  We could see by the masthead lights what was happening, so we quickly paid the bill and made a dash for the dinghy.  Fortunately we arrived in time to fend off and prevent any serious damage.  While Merima stayed on fender patrol, I headed back ashore and found the crew who didn’t seem the least bit concerned (charters never are!).   I’m not sure if they were drunk or just plain idiots, but I had to ask the skipper three times to move the yacht.  That’s what I get for being Mr. Nice Guy!

Hvar is a very attractive medieval hillside town with Gothic palaces, narrow pedestrian-only streets paved in marble, a huge Italian-style piazza and a fair bit of nightlife.  Perched above the town on the top of the hill is an old citadel.  We hiked up to the citadel on a clear day where we enjoyed a commanding panoramic view of Hvar town and the surrounding islands.  Wandering the narrow streets later on, we came upon a small winery.  The proprietor served us some samples of his hand-crafted wines, which were reasonably good, reasonably priced and sold in second-hand, screw top, unlabeled one liter water bottles.  Next door we noticed a quaint local restaurant which we decided to try that night for a meal out.

The restaurant, Konoba Menego, turned out the best dinner out that we had in Croatia.  The atmosphere was casual and convivial, the prices reasonable, the house wine very good, and we enjoyed chatting with the owner/chef and some of the other patrons.  One of those with whom we had a nice conversation was a Croatian tour guide.  He was a wealth of information but told us that as far as he was concerned we had already seen the highlights of the Dalmatian Coast. 

The next day I glanced up at our worn and faded Croatian courtesy flag, pondered the words of the tour guide the night before and our experiences of Croatia so far.  After a short conversation, Merima and I decided that we would spend a bit less time than we had originally planned in Croatia and more of the season in Italy.  Merima had lived in Italy for two years and speaks fluent Italian, and I have to admit I was hankering for some Italian cuisine and culture.  

 

 

 

Hvar town

The next morning we weighed anchor and made for the mainland city of Split.  Upon arrival, we discovered that one of the areas designated in the Adriatic Pilot for visiting yachts was now a ferry berth. Strike three!  The only remaining tie up (other than an ACI Marina at €100 per night) was along the broad and handsome promenade by the old city.  The good news was that there was plenty of space.  After tying up we soon discovered why.  After a ferry made its typical high-speed approach, sending off a large wake, we began bouncing off the hard bottom.  We had no choice but to immediately split from Split! 

Fortunately for us, it was just an hour away to the city of Trogir, which had two well-protected anchorages to choose from.  Trogir is a very handsome 15^th century walled city built on an islet situated in a channel between mainland Croatia and the island of Ciovo.  A draw bridge, which no longer opens, forms a barrier between the two anchorages, so one must circumnavigate Ciovo (about 12 nm) to get from one to the other.  We opted to go around the long way to try the western anchorage, which offered more swinging room.  The anchorage proved to be good, but the Adriatic Pilot, now well out of strikes, failed to mention that there was a rather noisy and unsightly ship yard operating 24/7 nearby.

The following day we enjoyed wandering around the labyrinth of narrow streets in the old walled city and picking up some excellent bread and provisions at the daily open market next to the town.  We didn’t know if it was too early in the season or the state of the economy, but large fleets of bareboat charter boats were still tied up in the ACI Marina across from Trogir town.  Late May or early June might just be an ideal time to cruise Croatia.

The broad waterfront promenade at Trogir

Serenading sailor, Trogir

Keen for a bit of quiet, we headed back to a small group of islands near Hvar town and attempted to anchor in the channel between Planikovac and Marinkovac Islands.  We weren’t having much success due to the thick weed on the bottom, and during our final attempt, after we had already put the anchor on the bottom and were paying out chain, an Italian-flagged yacht came in and cheekily dropped their anchor right on top of ours, payed out a short bit of chain and then the crew hopped in the dinghy and headed into a nearby café for lunch.  We abandoned the anchoring attempt and headed a couple miles west to another bight called Uvala Vinogradiš?e where we were able to hook on the second attempt.  It was a lovely and quiet spot, if not a bit cozy with yachts that arrived throughout the day.

The next day in light airs we motored to the west end of the island of Kor?ula to the town of Vela Luka and anchored in Uvala Plitvie, a wide open bay with a mud bottom and excellent holding (finally!).  We went into Vela Luka have a walk around and get some provisions and gasoline for the dink.  The town has a shipyard and a cannery but appears to have fallen on hard times.  There were numerous small grocers, but most of the other shops were closed for siesta. The row of waterfront cafes were all situated downwind of the moored fishing boats and the odor was a bit off putting.  There was a very modern INA fuel station on the quay.  We popped in to fill up our 10 liter gas jug and by the time the liquid inside reached the “full” line, the pump showed 12.5 liters. When I questioned the attendant about the amount I was given some well-rehearsed cock and bull story about heat, expansion and temperature differences between the tank and the outside air.  25%, I doubt it!  It wasn’t an overly warm day and I think the only thing expanding was the owner’s wallet.  What a rip-off!

Plagued by light air again, we motored to the island of Lastovo and to an anchorage called Skirvena Luka (hidden harbour).  It was a lovely open but well-protected anchorage with a narrow opening.  The surrounding shore had some attractive holiday homes, some old fisherman’s cottages and a couple of restaurants with floating marinas for boating patrons.  This seemed to be a popular lunch or dinner stop for yachts moving up and down the coast.  We were entertained by a group of young men who were staying in one of the cottages.  They had a long liquid lunch and were entertaining themselves (and everyone in the harbor) by singing Croatian anthems between meal courses and swims in the sea.

Merima uses some calm-water time for polishing

We departed early in calm wind and water and headed back to the island Mljet-this time to the village of Pomena.  Because we had motored or motor-sailed so much in recent days, we hadn’t run the genset or watermaker and were running low on fresh water.  Upon arrival we were told that to tie up to the quay would cost about US $70 per day but due to a shortage, water was being rationed to the tourist hotels and there was none available for yachts. We gave it a miss and anchored off of nearby Pomeštak Island and took a stern line to a tree, bringing back fond memories of Turkey, where we first had done this style of anchoring.  Holding was good and it was a nice protected spot looking toward the village.  There was even a good WiFi signal from the big hotel in the village.  The only bad news was a bareboat that had tied up next to us.  They returned from dinner around midnight and the low battery alarm was going off so they had to run the engine to charge batteries.  This happened a few times throughout the night, disturbing our sleep.  Idiots!

After a couple days of chilling out, we dropped the stern line and picked up the anchor early in the morning and made our way to Uvala Šunj on the island of Lopud.  Along the way saw a pod of dolphins that hung with us for about 45 minutes.  Interestingly, we regularly saw dolphins in Croatian waters, but never more than two or three at a time.  Shortly after we anchored a charter catamaran arrived and anchored quite close to us, ignoring all the other open and shallower space in the bay.  We were beginning to think that Moonshadow is Croatian for “anchor close to us.”  If that wasn’t enough, the eight or so overweight men all stripped naked and began swimming and sunbathing on the decks of the cat.  Fortunately the bare-ass bare boaters took off before I had to go ask them to move and we had a quiet evening with a stunning yellow/red sunset and a barbeque.

Sunset at Uvala Šunj  

We headed into the marina at Gruž, the commercial port for Dubrovnik, to fill up with water and provisions and to wash the boat.  The “marina” which was nothing more than a typical municipal quay, charged what was a record high for us, US $185 plus water and power per day, and didn’t even have a laid mooring line!  This seems to be a popular stop for megayachts, as there were three in that day.  With no laid mooring lines, they usually splay out two anchors to counteract any wind shifts, so coming and going is always an interesting exercise as anchors become crossed and fouled.  It is all too apparent that the city dumps raw sewage into the harbor, as for most of the day the smell of effluents was almost unbearable.  Gruž harbor is literally a toilet!  Eating dinner on board would have been like dining in a latrine so we went had a nice pizza dinner out at a café in town. 

At about 0200 the next morning we were hammered by the mother of all thunderstorms.   Lightning was nearly on top of us with nary a second between the blinding flash and the deafening crack of thunder.  Accompanying it were heavy rains and wind bullets, prompting a regular check of our anchor and dock lines, and ruining the chance for any sleep.  As a final crescendo to the pyrotechnic display, we were pelted with hail the size of acorns.

If you can bear the cost and the smell of Gruž, it is a convenient place to get provisions and supplies.  A large and well-stocked Konzum supermarket is five minutes walk from the marina, and along the way there are a reasonably stocked hardware store and chandlery as well as a few other useful shops.

We were happy to escape the olfactory assault of Gruž and headed south to the quaint little medieval village of Cavtat, passing by for a glimpse of the old walled city of Dubrovnik along the way.  We found good anchorage in the small bay south of the village after a lumpy ride down.  We spent a couple relaxing days preparing for the next leg of our trip and enjoying a stroll and a drink in one of the many lovely little waterfront cafes.  Cavtat seemed to be pretty happening in a laid-back sort of way.  The locals were friendly and the whole place had a very cool vibe.  On the last afternoon when we were preparing the boat to leave, we were treated to a kick-ass country and western concert given by a band from the States who played in town.

 

The village of Cavtat

Cavtat is the southernmost port of entry for Croatia and with northerlies forecast; the weather looked favorable for a Saturday departure for Brindisi, Italy.  We had hoped to get away at first light around 0500 hours so we could make the 118 mile trip in daylight hours.  Checking with the local officialdom, they work from 0800 to 2000, and one must leave IMMEDIATELY after check out, NO EXCEPTIONS.  Furthermore, one must bring their vessel to the Customs Quay and tie up along side to complete check out formalities.   We wanted to be first in line, so we tied Moonshadow up there after all the official’s offices closed for the night.  A bit cheeky, but at least we got a good night’s sleep and didn’t have to worry about a backlog in the morning. 

I was at the Port Captain’s office at 0800 sharp, where I was given clearance papers for Brindisi and handshake and well wishes.  A short walk down the waterfront and I found the office of the local Policija who stamped our passports.  Funny, both officials wanted to be certain the boat was on the Customs Quay, but neither bothered to even poke their head out the door to see if she was there.  At 0820 we tossed off the lines and headed south across the Adriatic Sea towards Brindisi, Italy. 

A few footnotes on Croatia:

People were generally warm, helpful and honest, if a bit brusque.

Language is no problem as English is widely spoken.

Marinas are plentiful.  ACI (Adriatic Club International) owns roughly half of the 40 facilities on the Croatian coast and while they are modern and secure, have the highest prices we have encountered to date.  Furthermore, I was told it is their policy to increase prices by at least 10 % annually without advanced notice.  This is your advanced notice!

Anchoring fees have been reported in the pilot and by other cruisers.  We were never approached for anchoring fees, but were charged admission to the National Park.

Repairs are available and we had good experiences.  Minor engine work and teak repair (from the attempted break-in last season) we had done was of good quality and reasonably priced.

Dining out is relatively expensive considering the quality of the food.  If you like fried or grilled meat and potatoes, pasta or pizza, you will be in heaven as this is the common fare. Croatia would be a vegetarian’s nightmare. 

Provisioning is good with plenty of supermarkets and a good selection, but food prices are very high.

Wine is very good, relatively inexpensive and there are many local varietals.

Environmental concern is severely lacking.  While the Croatian waters are generally beautiful and very clear, we have not seen so much plastic and rubbish in the water and on the shorelines since Indonesia.  Some cities pump raw sewage into the sea.

Weather was generally pleasant and spring-like. 

Crowds were light in most places, either due to the early season or the poor economy.

Sightseeing is very good, but to avoid disappointment, we would suggest you go to Croatia before you visit Greece or Turkey.

Tourism is a booming industry.  Large tourist resort hotels are being built at a rapid rate and locals are quickly learning how to snatch tourist dollars.

Television had American movies every night in English with sub-titles.

Shopping-Fagedaboudit!

Fishing-Ditto.

When I was living in the Bay Area, I knew where I would be on the last Sunday of April each year-out sailing for Opening Day on the San Francisco Bay.  We happened to be in town for the event this year and were invited by recidivist Moo-Crew Eric Strasser to join he and 20 of his closest friends aboard a chartered catamaran for the festivities. 

Captain Eric surrounded by beautiful girls-as usual.

Anyone who sails on the Bay knows that one can sail here all year round.  If there is no end to the season, why do they call it Opening Day?  Rewind to the late 1800’s when Belvedere was still an island.  The houseboats of the day, known as Arks, wintered in the protected waters of Belvedere Lagoon, between Belvedere Island and the mainland Marin town of Tiburon.  These lovely little “floater homes” were snug and safe from the winter storm’s wind and swell.  On the last Sunday in April, the draw bridge across the Corinthian Channel, the entry to the lagoon, was lifted on “Opening Day” so that the arks could be moved to various locations around Richardson Bay where their owners could enjoy the summer months.  Nowadays, it’s the ceremonial beginning of yachting season, where the fleet is blessed and boats are dressed for a parade along the San Francisco waterfront.

 

A stuntman was practicing his craft on an old pier near the Bay Bridge.

 

We were treated to a chilly but sunny sailing day with fresh breezes, beautiful San Francisco Bay vistas, a noticeable lack of traffic, plenty of good music, bevvies and camaraderie.

 

This is the quietest Opening Day I’ve ever seen!

We even poked our nose out the Gate for a bit.  The last time I was under the Golden Gate Bridge was in October of 1996 when we sailed Moonshadow out of the Bay for the last time.  It  was oh-dark-hundred on a foggy San Francisco morning.  The only way we could tell that we were under the bridge was that we could see it on the radar screen and hear the mid-span foghorn!

 

Sean Hughes takes us under the Gate during his trick on the helm.

Eric takes the cat back to her den after dropping off the crew in the City.

Next stop:  New Orleans for the annual Jazz and Heritage Festival.

 

 

 

 

 

Pacquita and Precedent cross tacks during the 2008 Stewart Championships-Ivor Wilkins Photo 

In 1958 R. L. “Bob” Stewart was commissioned by Peter Colmore-Williams to design a fast 34-foot racing yacht that could double as a comfortable family cruiser.  The yacht Patiki was an instant success on the race course, thrashing her competition and drawing the immediate attention of Auckland’s top racing sailors.  Cruising sailors were also impressed by the design, attracted by affordability, seaworthiness, spaciousness and excellent sailing characteristics.  During the 60’s and 70’s boatbuilders as well as “do-it-yourselfers” began building more Patikis in sheds, boatyards and back yards all over New Zealand. 

Within a few years, the ever-expanding fleet of Patikis began to dominate the Auckland racing scene.  Their spirited owners eventually looked to further raise the bar.  They longed for a different type of racing competition-one based solely upon sailing skills and tactics, and not on an individual yacht’s design advantage.  Eventually the Stewart 34, as it came to be known, became the first one design keel boat class to be granted their own separate racing division by the Royal New Zealand Yacht Squadron.   

In order to hone their skills and promote the growing Stewart 34 class, the keen owners continued to seek greater competitive challenges.  They struggled against New Zealand’s staid yachting traditions in order to introduce sponsorship into the sport of keelboat racing.  They eventually broke through the barriers, enabling them to import the world’s best skippers to Auckland each year for a top level regatta which came to be known as the Citizen Watch Series.  “The Citizen” was a series of highly competitive and exciting two-boat “match racing” contests where there is just one winner and one loser.  Stewart 34 owners lent their boats and their skills, and by sailing both along side and against the world’s top racing skippers, New Zealand’s best sailors raised their skill levels, and begin to set their sights on international racing events. 

Through the Stewart 34 owner’s continuous efforts, the Citizen became a major event on the world match racing circuit.  Top international sailors the likes of John Bertrand, Rod Davis, Paul Elvstrom, Peter Gilmour, Ted Hood, Peter Isler, Gary Jobson, John Kostecki and Ted Turner put Auckland on their annual yacht racing calendar.  They took the helms of Stewart 34’s and engaged in fierce, boat to boat competition in front of live television cameras and thousands of enthusiastic spectators on and around the Waitemata Harbour.  The Stewart 34 yachts and Citizen Watch Company, the event’s sponsor, became household names in New Zealand, and TVNZ’s Peter Montgomery emerged as the voice of New Zealand yachting and one of the world’s top yachting commentators.

Some of the more intrepid Stewart 34 owners took to the high seas, competing successfully in grueling ocean races such as the Auckland to Suva, Auckland to Noumea and the prestigious Sydney to Hobart.   Others safely cruised the world.   

New Zealand sailors battled to keep up with the ever-improving skills of the world’s top professional sailors.  Regular Stewart sailors drove themselves harder than ever in precursor events such as practice race series, Stewart 34 Championships and the National Match Racing Trials leading up to the annual Citizen Watch Series.  Local yachties like Chris Dickson, Brad Butterworth and Russell Coutts clawed their way to the top of the leader board in the Citizen.  Many sailors who developed their competitive racing skills on Stewarts were snapped up by top international owners and skippers, becoming “rock stars” that trotted all over the globe participating in prestigious grand prix sailing events.  As a result, more than a few Stewart sailors ended up as skippers and crew in the holy grail of yacht racing, the America’s Cup. 

By 1990, the stringent requirements of yachts used for international match racing events eventually overtook the maturing Stewart 34 fleet, resulting in its retirement from this demanding arena.   The pundits predicted a sudden and certain death of the Stewart Class.    

Twenty years down the track, keen young sailors continually snatch up Stewarts from the “old guard.”  They are attracted to the class essentially by the same attributes that originally made the yachts successful; value, affordability, competitive one design racing and comfortable cruising.  Today, the Stewart 34 class remains as viable as at any time in its history.  More than a third of the 58 New Zealand-based Stewart 34’s continue to race in the annual Stewart Championship Series, as well as countless other mixed-fleet racing events.  Other Stewarts remain as families’ beloved cruising yachts, regularly sailing the waters around New Zealand, and beyond. 

Sponsorship of the class continues to this day.  The owners remain fanatical about their yachts – many of which have been lovingly restored to their former glory.  Despite the fact that the Stewart 34s are sailed largely in their original form, they remain remarkably competitive with most yachts of their size in mixed-fleet racing.  On weekends and holidays, they morph into family cruising yachts and can be seen cris-crossing the beautiful waters of the Hauraki Gulf.   

So what is the “X-factor” that has caused this particular class to continue to flourish for fifty years, while many larger fleets of newer and faster one design yachts have faded into obscurity?  Perhaps it is the passion of the owners, or the incredible comradeship those who sail Stewarts.  It has been said that when one starts sailing Stewarts, they immediately acquire an entire network of friends. 

A total of 63 Stewart 34 yachts have reportedly been launched since 1959.  Sixty one are believed to still be sailing today.  Hundreds of owners and thousands of crew have sailed tens of thousands of races and hundreds of thousands of miles, providing for many interesting “sea tales,” some hilarious, some tragic.  

I became involved in Stewart racing in 1998 when I first arrived in New Zealand with Moonshadow.  It all started with an occasional race,  and soon developed into a full-scale addiction.  While I’m in residence in Auckland each summer, I’m a regular starter on Thursday Rum Races and the annual Stewart Championship Series as well as the odd race out into the Hauraki Gulf.  Over the years I’ve had the opportunity to crew or skipper on dozens of the regularly raced Stewarts and befriend hundreds of regular Stewart sailors.  People ask me what I love so much about New Zealand.  There are many things, but Stewart yachting would be up near the top of the list. 

My book Stewart 34 Yachting-the First 50 Years is an account of the history of the mighty Stewarts.  It is nearing completion and scheduled for release in October 2009.  Included with the book will be a DVD containing thrilling race footage from the Citizen Watch Match Racing Series of 1987, swing testing of a Stewart 34, a beautiful Stewart-only slide show and an extensive photo and document archive covering the 50 year history of the Stewarts.  The formal release will be at the 50th Anniversary Party on 14 November 2009-mark your calendar!  For more information, watch this space or pop me an email by clicking “contact us.”

 

Just another Saturday on Auckland’s Waitemata Harbour.  We had finished race three of the annual Classic Yacht Regatta on the Stewart 34 Princess and were heading back to Westhaven from the finish line out in the Motukorea Channel.  We passed the Rangitoto Channel just in time to catch race four of the Louis Vuitton Pacific series finals.  Emirates Team New Zealand were ahead 2-1 in a best of five series against the Swiss team, Alinghi.  Reaching back and forth along the south side of the course set between Takapuna Beach and Rangitoto Island, we had a good view of the action.  The Kiwis got a good start and jumped into an early lead as the breeze freshend into the mid 20 knot rage.  They would remain ahead throughout the race to beat the Swiss team (who, by the way, are mostly Kiwis) in what is being called “America’s Cup Light.”

Emiriates Team New Zealand crossing the finish line in race four to win the series.

This capped off 15 days of great racing amongst ten international teams in America’s Cup Class yachts here in Auckland. 

Now, if we could just get the real America’s Cup out of the court room and back on to the race course. . .

If you were lucky enough to be in  Auckland on this year’s Anniversary Day, you would have been treated to fine weather, beautiful sailing conditions and beautiful array of classic yachts taking part in the annual Anniversary Day Regatta.

My mates Bill Falconer and Charles Scoones invited me aboard their classic 1960 Stewart 34 Princess for a 25 mile run around the cans in Auckland’s Waitmata Harbour.  It was a long and sunny day on the water but the company and sailing conditions were unbeatable. 

After the obligatory mid-morning parade of yachts along the City front, the racing got under way.  The first event of the day was a drag race amongst a fleet of Auckland tug boats, both old and new.

Tugs, old and new, with engines revving on the start line

And the senior Daldy smokes into an early lead

Of course there was a huge spectator fleet. . .

including the Waka Aotearoa One shown here near Rangitoto Island.

Next it was time for the yachts to hit the start line.

Three of New Zealands iconic classic yachts, mulitple Trans-Pac veteran Ragtime (ex Infidel), the 1894 Robert Logan design Waitangi and the former America’s Cup contender NZL 20, all in bristol fashion, during pre-start manouvres.

The beautiful C Class Swarbrick gliding through the Rangitoto Channel

Whether you were on the water racing or on shore watching, it was a picture perfect day!

With a month left in the cruising season and just 200 miles to go to our final destination of Dubrovnik, we sat in Corfu and weighed our options.

The harbor, old town Dubrovnik, Croatia

Directly north of Greece on the way to Croatia is Albania. According to the Adriatic Pilot, formalities are complex, crime is high, and mines laid during WWII extend 20 miles out from the coast and still pose a potential hazard to navigation. This didn’t exactly give us warm fuzzies about option “A.”

The next option was to make a straight 200 mile run north, possibly against prevailing wind and seas. 24-36 hours of bashing is perhaps a small improvement on discovering an unexploded mine but still rather unattractive.

We decided to take what we thought would be most fun, if not the easiest option - head across the Adriatic Sea to Italy and work our way north along her east coast and then head back across to Croatia. The thoughts of authentic Italian food, wonderful wines, excellent espresso and just plain Italy weighed heavily in our decision making.

From Corfu town we made a short hop to the small island of Othoni and took anchorage for the night just outside the small harbor. Early the next morning, in a light southerly breeze, we set sail to the Italian port of Otranto, about 46 nm to the northwest. During the day the breeze gradually increased and backed, and for most of the day we had a pleasant trip. I say mostly, as during the last hour or so of the trip, the rains started. At least we would arrive with a clean boat!

The harbor at Otranto was chocker, and the only place for us to anchor was near the entrance in an area exposed to the swell, which was by then coming in about 1 to 1.5 meters. The winds continued to back and by sunset were northeast, meaning we’d have to either bash to windward or head away from our destination if we wanted to find another harbor. We opted to tough it out in Otranto. With no improvement the next day, we were boat-bound again, occasionally rolling on our beam ends as Moonshadow hunted in the gusty winds.

The weather broke the following day, so we made a dash up the coast 43 miles to Brindisi. The port of Brindisi is large, modern, and picturesque and offers plenty of space along its municipal quay for visiting yachts to tie up. All of the officialdom, as well as the town’s main shopping district are within a short walking distance. We tied up across the street from a grand flight of marble steps that marked the terminus of the historical Appian Way, built in 312 BC and connecting Brindisi to Rome.

Arriving early on a Friday afternoon, we reckoned we’d have plenty of time to check in before happy hour. We reported to the harbormaster’s office which appeared to be closed for the afternoon. A ring on the doorbell and we were invited in. Thank goodness Merima is fluent in Italian, as nobody spoke English. Furthermore, nobody knew the procedure for checking in a yacht, so it was recommended that we return on Monday. Translation: We can’t be bothered with you as its time for us to go home, so come back on someone else’s watch, if you come back at all.

Brindisi’s “Old Town” is classic Italian, with lovely, ornate old buildings crowded along its narrow cobbled streets. The palm tree-lined pedestrian-only main shopping street is lined with upscale shops and cafes and is pleasantly non-touristy.

After being boat bound for three days we were looking forward to a few good Italian meals out and we weren’t disappointed in Brindisi. The restaurants we visited all served excellent food, had great service and were very reasonably priced.

We were told the best shopping was at a mall outside of town, and we could get there - well, almost there - by bus, which ran hourly. We decided to head out there on Sunday morning to beat the crowds who were all at church. First of all, you can’t normally buy a ticket on the bus. You have to buy bus tickets at a kiosk. This is all fine except the kiosks are all closed on Sunday. We finally found a café that sold bus tickets. The hourly bus showed up a few minutes late and the driver informed us that he was going off duty and another bus on this route would be there soon. An hour later it finally arrived. Now you would think that with one shopping mall on the edge of town, the bus might take you right there. Not exactly. The bus takes you to the hospital a mile away and you have to walk the rest of the way. T.I.I. (This is Italy). Fine, we needed the exercise.

If the restaurants in Brindisi were excellent, the supermarket in the mall was to die for. If you have ever been to a real Italian deli in the States that have the wheels of cheese, cans of olive oil and great selections of wines, just imagine it, times 1000 - overwhelming. I think we put on a few pounds just walking through the turnstile. Never have I seen so much beautiful food. I don’t remember the last time we had so much fun provisioning - except for that mile walk back to the hospital to catch the bus.

On Monday we returned to the harbormaster’s office to check in. This time we were directed to another building down the street in the ferry terminal. We couldn’t find the office that we were told to report to, and after asking at four nearby offices, we finally met a nice gentleman who walked us to another building next door and into the correct office. We would have never found this on our own. Arriving there we ran into a cruising friend, Thomas, whom I met in Auckland in 2003 where he was having his beautiful yacht Rubino built - small world! We filled out a few forms and were told that we were finished. This didn’t quite seem right as they didn’t even stamp our passports, but hey, we weren’t going to argue. We enjoyed a couple more relaxing days in Brindisi and then decided to head up the coast.

The 64 NM run up to Bari was an easy trip in light airs and calm seas. We pulled into the large commercial port and headed to the area designated for visiting yachts in the most recent Adriatic Pilot. It turned out to be a fenced-off secure Customs area. Rather than anchor, we decided to try the smaller Porto Vecchio or Old Port a mile or so to the south. There was plenty of room along the quay; in fact there were no other cruisers, just a few fishing boats. There was still plenty of daylight left so we decided to pop into the port offices and check to see if all the i’s were dotted and t’s crossed on our check-in to Italy. Of course, no good deed goes unpunished.

We locked up the boat and Merima chatted with a few of the old men who were fishing from the quay. As we headed into town, she felt as if we were being followed by someone. I didn’t pay much attention to it, thinking to myself, “What could happen in broad daylight in a busy place like this?” I forgot, T.I.I., and I’m learning to trust her intuition, which is usually right. Apparently an unattended yacht was an offer someone couldn’t refuse.

We went to the harbormaster and passport control. They were all very friendly and helpful, and we were able to complete the remaining aspects of our check-in. They spoke little, if any English, and once again it would have been a real mission if Merima had not been able to speak to them in Italian. Officially checked in to Italy, we headed back to Moonshadow for happy hour.

When we returned we discovered that in our one-hour absence, somebody had attempted to break into the boat. This idiot was obviously an amateur as he had attempted to break the companionway lock with a tire iron. While he managed to ding the lock, hasp and the teak around the companionway, he was unable to gain entry. Perhaps he was scared off by our return or else he was just too lazy to break his way in. Either way, he was no match for our oversized stainless steel padlock and hardware. He did mange to get away with a few low-value items from the cockpit, but we cringed to think about what would have gone missing if he had gotten inside.

Welcome to Italy

We didn’t want to take any more chances with the local bandits, so we immediately shook off the lines and anchored in the middle of the small harbor for the night. Not impressed with our welcome to Bari, we set sail for Croatia at first light the following morning. We didn’t even bother checking out of Italy.

Our second crossing of the Adriatic Sea was a 109-mile straight shot to Gruz, the commercial port for Dubrovnik. We made the trip in 12.5 hours and arrived just around sunset after an easy approach. A friendly Customs official waved us in to the quarantine quay, welcomed us to Croatia, and helped us to tie up, after which he directed us to the first stop of the check-in process. In less than 45 minutes I had checked in, gotten a one-year cruising permit, and picked up a handful of Kuna, the local currency, from a nearby ATM. In contrast to the country we had departed just that morning, all the officials were courteous, knowledgeable and spoke excellent English. After we checked in we headed a couple miles up the Rijeka Dubrovaka, a long fjord-like inlet, and anchored for the night in the calm waters. Autumn was definitely in the air and it was noticeably chillier than on the Italian side. Time to pull out the comforter!

Looking out the back door at the ACI Dubrovnik Marina

The next morning we headed further up the inlet to the ACI (Adriatic Croatia International Club) Dubrovnik Marina, topped off the diesel tanks and then Med-moored Moonshadow in the spot where she will remain for the winter. With a bit of extra time up our sleeves, we had the chance to catch up on a few lingering maintenance and repair items before we mothballed her for the winter.

ACI Marina is set near the head of Rijeka Dubrovaka where Dubrovnik’s rich and royal used to keep summer homes or palaces. In fact, on the grounds of the marina is the fabulous if slightly crumbling old Sorkocevic summer house, with much of its extensive garden and grounds relatively intact. With high mountains on its south side, the sun rises late and sets early, providing some relief from the summer heat. At the head of the inlet is a massive spring where fresh water gushes from the base of the mountain. Quaint village homes dot the hillsides and waterfront. The marina definitely wins on its setting, even if it is a bit pricey.

Sorkocevic summer house in the Marina

The marina itself it quite a pleasant place. There are three restaurants on site, a large swimming pool, tennis court, excellent toilet and shower facilities, a small chandlery, reasonable repair facilities, WiFi, free power and water, a well stocked grocery store and an ATM. The local bus stops at the marina entrance and in about 15 minutes one can be in the center of Dubrovnik. All in all it is a good place to winter over, whether or not one is planning to stay on board.

The old walled city of Dubrovnik

We took off on a Sunday afternoon and hopped a bus into the old town of Dubrovnik. This rather small 13th century walled city is largely unchanged from its original form - it’s so beautiful there would be no reason to. While most of the shops were closed, the city was still busy with tourists visiting on cruise ships. We walked down the wide, marble paved Plaka, around the old harbour, on parts of the city wall and through some of the back streets before coming back down to the center and relaxing over a glass of good Croatian wine in a trendy cafe on the street. About four thousand people still live in the old town. One of the nicest things about this place is that motor vehicles of all types are banned within the walls.

Placa, the main street in old Dubrovnik, paved in marble

After exploring Moonshadow’s new temporary home, we returned to the boat and began preparations to put her in mothballs for the winter. We then caught a flight back home to Auckland for the southern summer.

From the Turkish town of Cesme it was a short, eight-mile hop back to Greece and the island of Chios. We slipped away early in the morning before the mighty Meltemi began to blow and we found plenty of space to Med-moor on the quay in Chios town.

All the offices of officialdom were well hidden on the opposite corner of the harbor near the ferry terminal, more than a mile walk from where we were tied up. As usual, the officials were polite, professional and helpful, even if we did have to wait to meet the Customs officer for our transit log. Just before we finished the process, a power failure shut the place down. As if it were a daily occurrence, I was nonchalantly told I’d need to return in a few hours to finish the process. When something like this happens, all you can say is T.I.G. (This is Greece!)

The good news is that the Port Captain was kind enough to organize a mini tanker so we could bring Moonshadow to the quay near his office later in the day and top up the diesel tanks and avoid another two-mile walk. Armed with a new Greek Transit Log and a load of very expensive dinosaur juice (US $7 a gallon), we were ready to head west.

Chios town is pleasant, if a bit noisy from all the auto traffic, but lacks the quaint atmosphere of many of the small Greek port villages we visited in the Dodacanese and Cyclades. In other words, it’s not really a place we wanted to hang out.

A favorable weather window for crossing the Northern Aegean Sea was on the horizon, so we departed Chios and headed down the coast and anchored in a small bay off the village of Emborios near the southern tip of the island. The steep-walled, rocky inlet was rather tight quarters but picturesque. It afforded us reasonable overnight protection and was a good staging point for the first leg of our run across the Aegean.

Early the next morning we took advantage of the lull in the Meltemi and motor-sailed west about half way across the Aegean to Andros Island, the northernmost of the Cyclades group. We found good protection in the Gavrion Bay on the west side of the island. Andros is a rather quiet island which is largely off the tourist’s radar screen. Dotted with some lovely old homes, this fertile island remains primarily an agricultural area.

We were away early the next morning and hoped to cover some ground before the Meltemi piped up again, but by the time we reached Kea Island the wind and seas had whipped up and we were bashing into them. Fortunately, we were able to bear away to the south as we rounded the top of the island and we had a sleigh ride into Vourkari Bay. We had some difficulty getting our Bruce anchor to set in the weed bottom but finally managed to get properly hooked on the fourth attempt. We waited out another day of a strong Meltemi and were able to organize a berth at the Zea Marina in Piraeus.

Kea is a charming little island with a large, natural harbor with good all-around protection. Its close proximity to Athens makes it a popular destination for those wanting
to get away from the “big smoke” and its hills are dotted with expensive and expansive villas.

Departing early the next morning, it was a bit lumpy for the first hour or so, thanks to a residual swell from the Meltemi. The seas began to lay down when we sailed into the lee of Makronisi Island and by the time we reached Cape Sounion where the stunning Temple of Apollo is perched on a promontory on the mainland coast, we were in calm waters. It was a beautiful and surprisingly clear day and as we approached Piraeus we could see the Acropolis off in the distance, rising above the surrounding metropolis of Athens. Athens, like Los Angeles, is set in a large basin surrounded by mountains. It sprawls inland for miles from the sea. Unlike L.A. it is almost totally devoid of high rise buildings. The typical Athenian building is a rather nondescript concrete apartment block of about nine floors, painted in some hue of white or beige. From a distance in the daytime, the uniform texture of the landscape makes it appear as if the Athenian basin is filled with grains of sand, with a rock (the Acropolis) sticking up in the middle

A View of the Acropolis as we approached Pireaus

We made our way into the Zea Marina and were directed to a Med-mooring amongst a lineup of megayachts sporting helicopters, huge Sat-Com domes, mega-tenders and mirror-finish paint jobs, all tended to by navies of uniformed crew. Zea, the primary marina for Athens/Piraeus, is absolutely enormous. To circumnavigate it by foot takes nearly an hour. The perimeter is lined with trendy cafes, posh restaurants and there is even a groovy swimming pool/nightclub complex. Power and water on the quay are controlled by a high-tech prepaid key card system. After spending so much time out in the hinterlands we found it all a bit overwhelming, but we were pleased to find a berth in a location that was convenient to central Athens.

The following morning we headed into town to see some of the sights. It was a short taxi ride from the marina to the Metro station where we caught a train for the 20-minute ride to central Athens. We found the Metro system to be very clean, efficient and user-friendly, no doubt one of the numerous legacies of the 2004 Olympic Games. Forty-five minutes from the boat and we popped out of a subway station near the Archeological Museum where we spent the rest of the morning gazing at Greece’s most impressive display of antiquities.

We caught up for a late (and very long) lunch with a distant cousin living in Athens whom I had never met before. John spoke excellent English, was great company, and treated us to a wonderful seafood meal at one of his favorite contemporary Greek restaurants in the city. Afterwards he walked us through the neighborhood of Plaka which is situated at the base of the Acropolis and gave us some tips on things to do and places to see from an Athenian’s point of view. After a thoroughly delightful day in Athens we easily made our way back to Moonshadow in Piraeus.

The next morning we again made our way into town by taxi/subway and hiked up to the Acropolis. It seems that our timing of a visit to Athens in early September was, for the most part, a real winner. With many Athenians still on summer holiday, the city was pleasantly uncrowded. The air was clean and the stifling heat of July and August had passed. While the temperatures were still warm, it was reasonably comfortable for some long walks. The only unfortunate part of our timing was that the Parthenon was undergoing some massive restoration and was mostly shrouded in scaffolding. Nonetheless it was a pleasant morning spent exploring the ruins of the ancient “high city” and its surroundings. Visibility was nearly unlimited and the panoramic views over the city of Athens were spectacular.

After lunch at a sidewalk cafe in Plaka we wandered around the neighborhood and the adjoining Anafiotika quarter. Anafiotika is a quaint and quiet Cycladic Island-style enclave nestled up against the base of the Acropolis. From there we walked up the long, stylish pedestrian shopping street of Emmou and reached the Parliament building in time to watch the changing of the Guard. The ceremony is very interesting and involves some very contorted moves on the part of the guards. We couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if Michael Jackson donned one of the colorful costumes and jazzed up the moves a bit. When it is all over an attendant quickly tidies up the on-duty guards by wiping off the perspiration and straightening their uniforms so they can stand stoic for the remainder of the hour.

Changing of the Guard at Parliament, Athens

In retrospect, we found Athens to be much cleaner and user-friendly than we had anticipated. In all of our experiences with taxis, the drivers were polite and used the meter, although we did have to share cabs on a couple of occasions, which is customary in Greece. For longer trips, the Athens Metro system is inexpensive, efficient and easy to navigate.

Our Auckland yacht racing mate Mandy flew in from London and joined us for a week of cruising. Soon after she arrived, we threw off the lines and departed the hustle and bustle of Piraeus and headed west. Our first stop was an anchorage off the town of Isthmia, and as usual we reached it just in time for happy hour.

The town of Isthmia is located on the isthmus where the large mass of land called the Peloponnesus was once connected to the rest of mainland Greece. In ancient times, ships were literally dragged across the 3.2 mile isthmus, saving about 600 miles of sailing to get to the Ionian Sea. The Corinth Canal was finally cut through the solid rock isthmus in the late 19th century allowing small ships and boats to pass through.

We tied up near what was labeled the “Customer Service” office of the Corinth Canal to pay for our transit. I’m not sure what service they provided - we tied up the boat, I walked in to pay, and we drove Moonshadow through the canal. At €320 (US $470), the 3.2 nautical mile long Corinth Canal cost us more to transit than either the Panama or Suez Canals. Given that the Suez Canal is around 90 miles long and the Panama Canal is around 50 miles long (and has six locks), this little ditch is really a gold mine for the Greeks. Perhaps they think that accepting credit cards for the transit fee is service. the draw bridges located at either end are one cool feature of the Corinth Canal. Instead of lifting up or swinging, the center span sinks down and disappears into the water and you can see the roadway on the bottom as you sail over it. Otherwise our transit was an A-ticket ride. Yawn.

Transiting the Corinth Canal

With the Corinth Canal and a load of Euro in our wake, we headed northeast across the Gulf of Corinth to the lovely little town of Galaxhidi. The people of the village were very friendly and curious. Most of the century-plus old village homes were well-restored and colorfully painted, in stark contrast to many of the villages we visited in the Aegean Sea where most homes are in shades of white. A rather talkative, self-appointed harbormaster who called himself “Number One” organized a taxi to take us up to Delphi the next morning.

A half hour ride from Galaxhidi in a luxurious Mercedes Benz taxi and we were in the ancient sanctuary of Delphi. Situated on a steep mountainside, the setting of Delphi is nothing short of spectacular. On the day we visited the weather was perfect, lending to the extraordinary serenity of the site. We spent a few hours wandering through the remarkable ruins and the adjacent museum before we returned to Galaxhidi.

The serenity of Delphi.

That afternoon we headed west 22nm to the quiet little island village of Trizonia, and Med-moored to the village quay. By contrast to the Aegean, the Gulf of Corinth had very light breezes throughout the day and the clear waters enticed us to take an afternoon swim.

We continued west again the next day to the village of Nafpaktos. The oval-shaped medieval walled harbor was a bit too cozy for us to Med-moor inside, but we found comfortable anchorage in the calm waters of the bay just outside. On the hillside overlooking the picturesque village is a Venetian castle, adding to the overall charm of the place. That evening we went ashore for a stroll, drinks, and an excellent dinner in a waterfront taverna and were surprised at the number of trendy bars and cafes filled with very hip-looking young people.

A calm morning anchored off the village of Nafpaktos

Our next leg was a full day’s run out through the Gulf of Patra and into the Ionian Sea to the Island of Ithaca. Just as we entered the harbor at Vathi town after a day of motor-sailing in light airs, the wind suddenly piped up to 30 knots and was blowing right in through the harbor entrance. Looking for a little better protection and more swinging room, we headed back out and anchored at the head of the Gulf of Molo. The winds abated a few hours later and the next morning we found ourselves in the lee of a rubbish dump so the odors wafting down the hillside were a bit unpleasant. We returned to Vathi and took anchorage in the harbor. We enjoyed a stroll around the town and that evening returned to celebrate Merima’s birthday at an excellent taverna run by a Greek family that had returned to the motherland after spending many years in New York.

We headed north the next day and stopped at a lovely anchorage called One House Bay on the little island of Atoko. After a swim in the crystal clear waters and lunch, we weighed anchor and headed to the “island” of Levkas. Levkas was once part of Mainland Greece, but in ancient times a canal was cut through the marshy isthmus enabling smaller vessels to navigate between them.

One House Bay, Atoko Island

At the north end of Lefkas is what the Lonely Planet described as a “smart new marina.” Two years after the publication date I can tell you unequivocally that it is neither. The prices are the only thing five-star about this marina. Upon our arrival we were underwhelmed by the lack of helpfulness on the part of the dock attendants. Useless would be the most polite adjective to describe them. The shower and toilet facilities were absolutely disgusting. The on-site mini market was terribly overpriced. In a southerly breeze, the marina is situated just downwind from a rubbish dump, with fires endlessly smoldering and sending along its malodorous smoke. Dead fish and rubbish congregated in the water and we never saw anyone making any attempts at a cleanup. The WiFi system had been down for more than a month with no repair date anticipated. All this for the highest price we’ve ever paid for a marina. If the marina was a loser, Lefkas town was a pleasant enough place and at least Moonshadow would be secure while we took off for a few days of inland travel. We all enjoyed a meal in town featuring some Lefkadan specialties that evening.

We bid Mandy a farewell as she caught a bus back to the airport in Athens and we prepared to head inland to Meteora.

Driving in Greece is an exciting, if not terrifying experience. The roads are generally good and navigation is not difficult as most signs show place names in both Greek and Roman characters. Along our route we were teased with a new stretch of freeway that was being built to transverse the country from coast to coast (Ionian to Aegean). This road was of Autobahn quality, featured some very long tunnels through the mountains and the speed limit was posted at 130 kph (80 mph) for cars. As if our rented Fiat Punto could even reach that speed! Back on the old roads, stuck behind slow trucks with no passing lanes to be found, we could understand why the road toll in Greece is reportedly the highest in Europe. Greek drivers love to drive fast, are very impatient and overtake slower vehicles at every opportunity. We witnessed dozens of extremely close calls in the hours we were on the road. We split up the five hour drive with a lunch stop in the quaint mountain hillside village of Metsovo. From there it was a couple more hours on a winding road to the village of Kastraki in the extraordinary area called Meteora.

Rising above the valley are massive rock pinnacles, which themselves are quite a spectacular sight. During the Byzantine era, reclusive monks seeking peaceful havens from the Turkish incursions into Greece built numerous monasteries on the tops of these lofty rock pinnacles. Originally the only access was by rope ladders or in rope nets hauled up by a hand-cranked windlass. Some of these spectacular monasteries sit precariously perched on pinnacles that loom hundreds of feet above the surrounding ground level.

Rousanou (foreground) and Saint Nicholas Anapafsas (behind) Monastaries, Meteora

A handful of the original monasteries remain and most of these are now open to the public. Oh, yes, stairways have been carved out of or built on to the rock so that visitors can now walk up safely. We visited three of the monasteries on a rather drizzly and overcast day. All were quite impressive, and the largest, Moni Megalou Meteorou was literally a self-contained village situated on the top of a massive pinnacle. Fortunately the weather cleared and the following day was absolutely brilliant. We took the opportunity to drive or walk to some of the spectacular vista points along the ridge overlooking the monasteries and the valley below.

The net used for lifting people and goods up to the monastery

 

 

The winds abated overnight so we headed out the following morning and easily made the 30nm trip to Paxos. We tied up to the quay in the lovely little town. It was quite busy with tourists during the day, but by late afternoon most of them were on a boat back to Corfu so the evenings were very serene. On the Friday night we had a huge downpour. This was the first time we had experienced any measurable rain on board in more than a year. Finally the rig and halyards got a cleaning from the Meltemi dust. We chilled out in Paxos for a couple days and waited for favorable weather to make the trip up to Corfu.

The Corfu Sailing Club

The strong northerlies eased and we motor-sailed from Paxos to Corfu. The small municipal harbor was chocker with fishing and day tripper boats, but we were able to find berthing at the Corfu Sailing Club. Nestled under the north side of the Corfu’s old castle, the Corfu Sailing Club is a convivial little marina. It is a bit ramshackle and quarters for maneuvering are tight, but it has all the facilities necessary for a cruiser: power, water, toilets, showers, a diesel pump, WiFi, social area, bar and restaurant. Prices were reasonable and it was just a five minute walk to the center of Corfu town.

Beautiful old buildings along the Liston, Corfu

In stark contrast to the laid-back villages typical of the Greek Islands, Corfu town is a decidedly sophisticated city. With its Venetian mansions, broad promenades, spacious parks, trendy cafes and upscale shops, it is where Greece meets the rest of Europe. One can easily get lost meandering through the labyrinth of narrow streets in the quaint old town. There were, of course, the ubiquitous tourist shops selling the usual Greek curios, many of which had probably been made in China. The most surprising offering were wooden carvings of Komodo Dragons. Not exactly a Greek thing. We’d seen millions exactly like them in Indonesia, Singapore, Malaysia and even as far away from Komodo as Thailand, but Greece? We enjoyed a few days of relaxing and exploring in Corfu, but with the season winding down, it was time to bid a farewell to Greece.

In case you missed the chance in Indonesia, you can get a hand carved Komodo Dragon in Corfu

I wish it was that simple. Up to this point formalities in Greece had been too easy. Departing Greece for the last time became a real challenge. First off, on the day we wanted to check out, both Customs and Immigration had gone on strike. Once again, this is Greece! Thinking it was mandatory to check out with both offices, we persisted in rustling up some people who managed to relieve us of our Transit log and glance at our passports, but not after being sent to and fro from office to office. Unlike most other Greek ports, Corfu’s officials are spread out all over the waterfront along the city’s huge commercial and ferry port, so the process involved miles of walking. As it turned out, we could have simply mailed in our Transit Log and we were told we didn’t need a departure stamp in our passports as we were bound for another EU country. What a huge waste of time!

A view of Corfu Town from the Old Castle

We slipped out of Corfu the next morning and anchored off of the quiet little island of Othoni, lying off the northwest corner of Corfu. From there it would be an easy 46nm trip to the port of Otranto, on the heel of the boot of Italy.

 

 

Assorted mushroom rocks, near Goreme.

Our accommodation was a little “cave hotel” called Elkep Evi, which we were told translates to “the ruins.” While the hotel itself is closer to four stars than the Flintstone’s Bedrock digs, it is situated amongst what was once a flourishing Greek hill/cliffside community. Our room was carved out of a solid rock cliff face with just one man-made wall containing a door and window to allow access and protect it from the outside world. All of the room’s architectural features - columns, lamp shelves, ceiling decorations, bookshelves and even a cozy little sleeping alcove - were carved out of solid stone. Unlike building a house where you just add all the things you want, with a cave house one has to imagine what they want and with a hammer and chisel, take away the rest. Completely devoid of paint or wallpaper, the interior decor is truly “natural”.

The Elkep Evi cave hotel.

It just happened to be market day so we took a stroll though the town of Urgup. Surrounding the town we found many ancient buildings, cave houses and ruins. We sampled some local wines at a nearby winery and enjoyed a wonderful dinner on the rooftop of a restaurant near our hotel, overlooking the town.

A cave room.

The following day we took what is called the “Ihlara Tour.” Starting from the nearby town of Goreme, heading in a southwesterly direction, we stopped at a few choice vantage points to view the “fairy chimneys” (conical shaped rocks) and “mushroom rocks” (cylindrical rocks with larger caps made of harder stone), some of which had been hollowed out as dwellings. These are some of the signature features of the Cappadocian landscape.

This mushroom rock scene appears on the Turkish 50 Lira note.

Despite the fact that Cappadocia is blessed with some of the most fascinating topography in the world, many of its early inhabitants chose to live underground at least part of the year. To date, at least 36 underground cities have been discovered, and it is believed that many more existed. The early inhabitants, mostly Christians, often took refuge underground during the summer months to evade invading armies from Persia. We visited the Derinkuyu Underground City which was discovered accidentally by a farmer and just opened to tourism in the 1960’s. Derinkuyu consists of a complex maze of passageways, rooms, stairways, air shafts and wells extending for acres and descending eight levels into solid rock before reaching the water table. We were told that there was actually a tunnel that went all the way to the next underground village ten kilometers away. The original inhabitants made provisions for virtually every aspect of day to day life underground, from sheltering their herds, winemaking and milling grain, to creating places of worship and incarceration of prisoners. The magnitude of the effort it took to build this city is unfathomable considering the primitive tools available in the day, not to mention what it must have been like to be in residence with 8000 people (the estimated population) in the rather cozy quarters. As sophisticated as it might have been, it is still no place for claustrophobics or sun worshippers.

Back above ground we headed to the Ihlara Valley, a long and fertile gorge whose 500-foot sheer walls were carved over centuries by the Melendez River. Starting at the town of Ihlara, we descended by foot into the gorge and walked a couple of miles downstream along the river amongst stands of tall green trees. The meandering walk took us by numerous farms, hundreds of churches, and thousands of ancient cliff dwellings and tombs. The most notable feature of the homes is the neat rows of pigeon holes carved into the rock near the entrances, looking like the mailboxes at an apartment complex. The ancients raised the pigeons for many purposes: the meat for eating, guano for fertilizing crops, feathers for bedding and some of the birds were used to carry messages to other villages. At the end of the walk we sat on pillows in a thatched roof gazebo built out over the river and enjoyed a cool Efes beer and a fresh trout for lunch.

Dwellings and pigeon holes, Ihlara Valley.

After lunch it was a short ride to the village of Selime where we visited an ancient monastery nestled against the rock face of a large plateau. Carved into the heart of fairy chimneys hundreds of feet high is a massive religious complex including some very large churches with multistoried chambers. Climbing the precipitous stairways to dizzying heights and looking out of rooms opening on to sheer cliffs is very exhilarating, if not frightening, but no place for the acrophobic or not-so-sure-footed. The site is absolutely authentic and no guard rails have been installed for safety.

The Selime Citadel.

The final stop of the day was at a viewpoint above Pigeon Valley, a lovely area with a variety of Cappadocian rock formations in hues of yellow and pink with the town of Goreme as a backdrop. All of the homes in the valley - thousands of them - were carved in the walls strictly for use by pigeons.

That evening we took a stroll into the town of Urgup for dinner. We found a lovely restaurant off the town square that offered a Cappadocian specialty, clay pot stew. It is prepared by placing a combination of bits of meat, vegetables and seasoning into a terra cotta pot and then sealing the top with a chunk of bread dough. While it is slow cooking for hours in the oven, the bread hardens and seals in the juices. It is served by carefully whacking the top off the clay pot with a meat cleaver and pouring the stew on to a serving platter. After a long day of crawling, hiking and climbing, it was the perfect meal to compliment a chilly Cappadocian evening and a chilled Cappadocian wine.

Up, up and away!

We were up before sunrise the following morning and ferried to the launch site for hot air balloons. Floating over the stunning geography at sunrise on a crisp morning was a beautiful way to experience the splendor of Cappadocia. Our pilot skillfully used the gentle and shifty early morning breezes to steer us over the hills and through the valleys. At one point we were thousands of feet up heading north, minutes later with treetops brushing the bottom of the basket we were heading south. During the hour we spent suspended from the massive bag of spinnaker cloth and steel wire, we were able to see a variety of rock formations, vineyards, creeks, towns and farms, not to mention dozens of other beautiful balloons sharing the air space. After a perfect landing we enjoyed the customary glass of champagne and then headed back to the hotel for breakfast.

Hot air ballooning over Cappadocia just before sunrise.

After a hearty breakfast of local bread, fruit, olives and cheese pie made while we watched, at the hotel’s outdoor dining area overlooking Urgup, we returned to Goreme for the “Cappadocia Tour.” The day started with a leisurely mile-or-so stroll through “Rose Valley,” a gorge with small farming plots on the bottom, and a myriad of dwellings and pigeon holes neatly carved into the steep valley walls. On the valley floor were numerous smallish and well-formed fairy chimneys in pinkish hues. Near the end of the valley was a larger fairy chimney with a small chapel carved into it.

Fairy chimneys, Rose Valley.

After a cup of Cay (Turkish tea) at a cozy makeshift cafe situated along the trail, we carried on another kilometer or so to the village of Cavuin. Overlooking the present-day town is an imposing piece of rock which in its day it was a thriving Greek cliffside community, but an earthquake in the 1950’s severely damaged the area, and the Turkish government relocated the residents to safer quarters. Quite a few of the old homes, both cave-style and aboveground, are still intact and we spent some time exploring the area.

Some of the ancient dwellings are still used today.

From Cavuin we headed north to the town of Avanos. Situated on the banks of the Red River, the deep red clay from the river bed is the raw material for Avanos’ most important industry - terra cotta pottery. The first order of business was lunch at a large restaurant that was completely underground, carved into a solid rock hillside. The entry hall alone was at least two hundred feet long and fifty feet wide and had numerous drawing rooms branching off to its sides. There appeared to be seating for hundreds of diners in five wings branching off from a large round central hall. A lone musician played traditional Turkish music on a bulbous-looking string instrument while we enjoyed an excellent clay pot stew.

After lunch we visited the largest pottery factory in the region, a family-owned business that had been passed through many generations. The entire factory and massive showroom were underground. Most of the floors were canted one way or another, and the lack of any windows had a tendency to play a bit with one’s equilibrium. After a brief demonstration of the art of hand (and foot) crafting of clay pots, we were served a cup of Cay and invited to the massive showroom containing every imaginable type of pottery. Styles were mostly Turkish but there were also items ranging from Oriental to Greek. The craftsmanship was quite impressive with prices to match.

Heading back south we stopped to have a view of a spectacular formation known as “The Castle” in the town of Ucisar. The Castle is a massive fairy chimney located on the top of a high hill and had served as the lookout and fortification for the town that had grown around it. Views from the Castle and surrounding town’s homes and guest houses are breathtaking.

The Castle, Uchisar.

Making our way back to Goreme, we stopped at a few more interesting vista points to view the various rock formations. One of them, “Imagination Valley” tempts the viewer to detect the various animal shapes (dolphins, camels, snails, etc.) formed by the rocks. Another, called “Love Valley” features large formations in the shape of phalluses.

We finished the day at the Goreme Open Air Museum, a large complex of churches and monasteries, all carved out of the rock formations. There is reported to be one church for every day of the year in this small valley, so even the most devout would not want for a change of scenery. Some of the churches are quite large and impressive, with a number of the beautiful wall and ceiling frescoes still intact. One monastery’s refectory features a solid rock table and seating benches at least 30 feet long, carved out of, or should I say, left in the room that was carved out of solid rock in ancient times.

Merima at the head of the refectory table, Goreme Open Air Museum.

After resting our feet for a few hours and a lovely Turkish BBQ dinner at the hotel, we took a taxi to a restored 13th century caravansary. Situated along what was once the primary trade route between Istanbul and Asia, the Saruhan Caravansary was a safe haven for weary merchants, their entourages and camels traveling through the region to and from the Far East. In a small mosque attached to the caravansary we watched a Whirling Dervishes Ceremony. While the caravansary itself was quite impressive I’m afraid the Whirling Dervishes left us wondering what all the fuss was about.

Chuch frescoes, Goreme Open Air Museum.

We set aside our last day in Cappadocia to sleep in, relax and spend some more time strolling around the towns of Urgup and Goreme. The following afternoon we were back aboard Moonshadow in Cesme, getting ready to make our final trip of the season across the Aegean Sea.