Introduction by Peter Montgomery, written by long time Stewart 34 sailor George Backhus.

Just published, this 182 page, A4 size book documents the extraordinary history of one of the most significant one-design class racing/cruising yachts in New Zealand history. The Stewart 34, early on known as the “Patiki,” literally changed the face of NZ yachting and the world standing of NZ yachtsmen. There are plenty of colour photos, a bio on each of the 63 Stewart 34’s built and loads of entertaining “sailor’s stories” from the many characters who’ve sailed on Stewarts over the past 50 years.

Included with the book is a professionally produced DVD containing one hour of exciting yacht racing footage from the Citizen Watch Match Racing Series (1979 to 1989), a Stewart 34 slide show, an extensive photo gallery and an archive of articles, clippings and other trivia collected by members of the Stewart 34 Owner’s Association.

If you have ever wondered how sailors from a small country in a remote corner of the world came to successfully challenge and defend the America’s Cup, here is the back story.  If you want to know how NZ yachtsmen like Brad Butterworth, Russell Coutts and Chris Dickson developed skills that propelled them into the America’s Cup and the world’s grand prix yacht racing arena, you will want to read this book.

If you have ever owned or sailed on a Stewart 34 you will want to own this book. 

If you know someone who has owned or sailed on a Stewart 34, or is just plain keen on yachting, then this will make an ideal Christmas present.

If you would like to know what it takes to keep a one-design class viable for half a century, then you will want to read this book.

The book can be signed by the author upon request.

ISBN 978-0-473-14733-4

Price for a hard cover book+DVD is NZD$79 and for soft cover book+DVD is NZD$59.  If you are interested in purchasing a copy, please email me by clicking “Contact Us” on the home page of the web site.

A hitchhiker on the way to La Galite

As we approached La Galite we were hailed by a Tunisian Coast Guard official posted in a lighthouse on a small islet to the west.  He asked us the usual information of a vessel entering territorial waters (destination, last port of call, number of persons on board, nationality of crew and vessel, etc.) and then asked if we had a small boat.  After an affirmative response, he requested that we anchor behind Galitons de l’Oueste and come pick him up in the dinghy.  With a reasonable swell running, it was a rather dodgy place to anchor, let alone splash the dinghy, especially since we were only planning an overnight stay.  We told him it was not possible, so he granted us permission to anchor at La Galite Bay for the evening.  We reckoned the coastie up in the light house was either very friendly, very lonely or trying to escape.

La Galite is a large hunk barren wind-blown rock jutting out of the sea twenty miles off the coast of mainland Tunisia.  The small settlement consists of a few crumbling buildings housing government workers and local fishermen.  The diving is reportedly pretty good, but since we had yet to check into Tunisia we were instructed to remain on board during our stay.  The wind coming off the steep island was a bit gusty but overall La Galite was a reasonable overnight anchorage for those wishing to break up the trip between Italy and Tunisia.

La Galite Island

The easterly breeze waned during the night so the next morning we motored in light airs to the mainland town of Bizerte and tied up at the visitor’s quay.  Customs and Territorial Police (Immigration) came out to meet us and were very polite and efficient.  We had been forewarned that the officials are not backward about coming forward for some baksheesh (gifts/bribes).  We’re not sure if they’ve cleaned up their act or if they were scared off when I told them my occupation was a “journalist.”  One of the officials looked quite disappointed, but we were not hassled at all.   Facilities for yachts in Bizerte are very rough and minimal, but construction has commenced on a mega marina complex which should make this a major yachting destination some day.

As a New Zealander, Merima needed a 10 Dinar (US $7.50) stamp for her visa.  The chief Territorial Policeman was kind enough to drive me (a scary ride as the Tunisians are horrible drivers) to an ATM and then the government office in town where I could purchase the stamp.  It was during the holy month of Ramadan, so the government office was closed but we finally found the miniscule stamp at a copy kiosk.  Our check-in to Tunisia was completed by the end of the day without drama and just few small gifts we offered to the three officials.

That evening we walked about a mile down the shore to the old fishing port and had dinner at a good quayside restaurant.  Due to Ramadan, no alcoholic beverages were available but I enjoyed a couple “Celestial” non-alcoholic beers which were the best tasting of all the “near-beers” I’ve sampled.  The specialty of the house was couscous, which was excellent. 

The old fishing port at Bizerte

On the way back to the boat we stopped into a local café near the quay for a cup of tea and a sheesha.  The sweet mint tea was served with pine nuts floating on the top, giving it a lovely buttery flavor.

On the way back to the boat we were stopped by rather dodgy looking character claiming to be the port captain, although he was not in uniform.  I reckoned that he was just the night security guard as he had the keys to the gate and Port Captain’s office.  He demanded we and the Spanish couple tied up next to us, follow him into his office.  I was quite certain he was going to attempt to extract some baksheesh from us.   We reluctantly followed him into his office but the ceiling was so low that I whacked my head on one of the exposed beams.  I feigned dizziness and concussion and left immediately but was warned I must come back and report to him before we departed Bizerte  The Spanish couple also managed to escape without paying, claiming they had not yet been to an ATM. 

We slipped away from the guest quay early the next morning and anchored out in the protected harbor, managing to avoid the “Port Captain” for the remainder of our stay in Bizerte.  We splashed the dinghy so we could access town via the old fishing port.  When we arrived in town the first time, we were greeted by a man named Mohammed who spoke excellent English and wanted to be our guide.   We told him we preferred to explore on our own and finally convinced him to leave us alone.  He said he would go watch our dinghy which we had locked to a metal ring on the quay with a chain.

We spent the morning exploring the town and found the Monoprix supermarket where we picked up a few provisions. 

Bizerte is a working town, with nothing much to offer the tourist other than the scenic old port and Casbah.  Nonetheless it was interesting to wander around the streets of town and witness life in this town, little changed from 50 to 100 years ago.  The French influence from the colonial years still remains strong in Tunisia.  Most Tunisians speak French in addition to Arabic.  Few people speak English so Merima dusted off her French and was able to get us by quite nicely as we found our way around and organised a SIM card for the phone and a 3G mobile Internet connection.

The town was buzzing with crowds of people going about their daily business, but all cafes and restaurants were closed during daylight hours in observation of Ramadan.  From sunrise to sunset people are not permitted to eat, drink or smoke-anything.  We did not see one person sipping, chewing or puffing during the days we were ashore, nor did we out of respect for those who were truly fasting. 

When we got back to the dinghy there were a few local boys playing in and around it.  Other than a few dirty footprints on the tubes, it was OK, but Mohammed was on the spot when we returned to collect his fee any way.  We gave him a few Dinars and he was happy, but wanted us to come back in during the evening for a tour, which we politely evaded.

Every evening during Ramadan, at the official moment of sunset, a cannon was fired and a puff of smoke would appear over the town to announce that it was time to end the day’s fast.  After a loud bang, it was as if someone called “gentlemen, start your barbeques!”

The gun signifies its time to eat!

We returned to town the next morning to have a look at the Casbah and the old Spanish Fort.  While some of the quaint old homes in the Casbah were picturesque, the streets were strewn with rubbish and decaying food.  We were quickly driven away by the odor.  The Spanish fort was equally underwhelming, so we walked down to the town center and local open markets to get a few fresh items.   Bizerte is not really a tourist town and my guess is most of the foreign visitors would be yachties passing through.  As we walked down the street a gentlemen who spoke excellent English remarked in surprise that we were speaking English.  He asked what we were doing in Bizerte as if he’d never seen a western tourist there before.

An ornate door on a home in the Casbah, Bizerte

That afternoon we picked up the anchor and headed out to Cap Farina.  Along the way we passed Raf Raf where there are two almost perfectly formed natural pyramids.  Further down the coast was a most unusual sandstone island called Ile Pilau.  The coastline varied from stunning white sand beaches to sandstone cliffs pockmarked with numerous caves.  We anchored on the south side of Cap Farina below an old fort and we were the only boat there.

The natural pyramids at Raf Raf

The next day we enjoyed a nice sail to Sidi Bou Said, running with the spinnaker for a few hours before the wind gradually died out.  The marina was full, so we anchored just to the south, getting a bit of protection from the easterly swell.  It was bit rolly during the day, but the shore breeze in the evening put our stern to the swell allowing us a comfortable night’s sleep.

Setting out early the next morning, we walked from the marina up the steep path to the village of Sidi Bou Said. We wandered the narrow cobbled streets enjoying the whitewashed buildings with colorfully painted doors and windows.  We found the Dar el-Annabi, a large and ornate home built in the 18^th century which has been converted to a museum.  Many of the original furnishings and artifacts remain, offering a glimpse into the posh lifestyles of times past.  We were the first to arrive that day and were welcomed by a young man who is a member of the family who owns and lives in the home. We enjoyed a nice chat while sipping on a mint tea in the lovely inner courtyard.  After, we wandered through dozens of exquisitely tiled and decorated rooms of the home and up to a small deck on the roof to take in the panoramic view of Sidi Bou Said, Carthage, Tunis and the Mediterranean Sea.  The home is replete with family photos and memorabilia and was well worth the 3 Dinar (US $2.25) entry fee. 

The peaceful inner courtyard at Dar el-Annabi

A backstreet, Sidi Bou Said

A home draped in bouganvillea, Sidi Bou Said

A narrow lane, Sidi Bou Said

A short stroll from there we found the Dar Ennejma Ezzahra, a large villa built by the French-American Baron Rudolf d’Erlanger in the early 20^th century.  The Baron was a patron of the arts and this home reflected his incredible taste in every way.  The interior styling is a meticulously detailed Arabian art deco with generous use of imported marbles, plaster and wood carving and gold leaf.  Our guide told us that the home remains much in its original state.  The walls are adorned with original paintings, many done by the Baron, and one part of the home is a museum displaying gramophones and musical instruments, many of African origin.  While the exterior of the home blends with the buildings in the rest of the village, the location overlooking the sea is spectacular and the interior is simply palatial.  We had the place to ourselves until just before we left and again it was great value at 16 Dinar (US $12) for the two of us including a supplement for photography and a tip for the guide.

The ornate interior of Dar Ennejma Ezzahra

Hand carving and gold leaf work in Dar Ennejma Ezzahra

View of Moonshadow anchored in the Gulf of Tunis from Dar Ennejma Ezzahra

We later explored the lovely narrow streets of the town with their intricate doors and explosions of brightly colored bougainvillea.   We climbed up to the lighthouse at the highest point in town before succumbing to hunger and finding a café in town open for non-fasting tourists, where we enjoyed a tasty couscous lunch at an outdoor café.

The ornate doors of Sidi Bou Said

In a light westerly breeze we weighed anchor and headed ENE toward Cap Bon.  As we approached the rocky cape, the wind filled in and gradually went forward.  By the time we reached Cap Bon we were hard on the wind with 15-20 knots and 2m seas. 

The interestingly shaped Ile Pilau near Cap Bon

It was a bash for a couple of hours until we clawed our way past the waves crashing on the rocks of the cape and were able to safely bear away and ease sheets.  We flew the next 15 miles down the coast to Kelibia, where we took anchorage in an excellent lee, off the town and next to the local harbor.  Winds dropped to 10 knots and the anchorage was flat calm-ahhhhhh!  Time for a rum!

View of Le Fort from the anchorage, Kelibia

We were looking to get a bit of exercise so the following morning we took the dink into the harbor in Kelibia and walked up to “Le Fort,” an ancient fort perched atop a hill behind the harbor.  After a 20 minute climb up the hill and onto the outer walls of the fort we were rewarded with great views of the town, port, beach and all the way up the coast to Cap Bon. 

View from Le Fort, Kelibia

Afterwards we walked a ways towards town of Kelibia to get a closer look at a mosque with an intricate and attractive minaret.  Kelibia is a quiet old town and other than the nice beach on the other side of the fort, there’s not much for tourists.  The harbor is chokker with fishing boats and there is only room for 8-10 visiting yachts rafted two or three up.  Kelibia has long been a boat building center and one can still see local craftsmen packing the seams on wooden boat with oakum, as it has been done for hundreds of years. The anchorage was calm and the other boat left, leaving us the only ones there.

A boatbuilder packs the seams of a fishing boat with oakum, Kelibia

A modestly dressed Muslim mermaid near the harbor, Kelibia

In light air we motor sailed to Hammamet, 40 miles down the coast and anchored near the Casbah in calm waters.  Hammamet is noticeably more touristy than the towns up closer to the cape.   We arrived to a flotilla of mock pirate ships full of white-skinned tourists blaring loud disco music while the crew, dressed in tacky pirate garb, performed calisthenics in the imitation rigging .   The nicely restored Casbah is full of tourist shops with slightly aggressive salesmen touting their wares, but the town is pretty tidy and there were numerous food and drink establishments open before the evening gun went off.  A squall came through in the late afternoon leaving a nasty swell so we didn’t get a good sleep due to the rolling.

Fishing boats on the beach, Hammamet

A Hammamet sunset

The wind shifted to the NW the next morning and the anchorage calmed down so we decided to stay one more night.  We went into town that evening to celebrate Merima’s birthday and enjoyed a glass of Tunisian wine at a pub and dinner at the outdoor courtyard at Chez Anchour restaurant.  The Tunisian food and local wines were both excellent.

The Casbah, Hammamet

We had come to the last sailing day of the season.  Our first stop was the Marina Jasmine where we topped up the diesel tanks. It is interesting to note that at .91 Dinar (US $ .68) per liter in Tunisia, diesel, while still expensive by U.S. standards, is less than half the price than in Italy or France.

Departing the Marina Jasmine mid-morning, we capped off the season with a splendid 40-mile spinnaker run to Cap Monastir, where we would store Moonshadow for the northern hemisphere winter.   We pulled into the Marina Cap Monastir right around happy hour and tied up to the fuel quay.  The local officials were on the spot to check our papers, and were very polite and efficient.

The Marina Cap Monastir is the oldest in Tunisia and is showing her age a bit.  The facilities are a bit rough around the edges, but the staff are most helpful and efficient and the marina itself provides excellent protection from the weather and has good security.  Interestingly, the berths do no have laid moorings, so we had to provide some old lines to a diver to fix to the mooring blocks.  We got it all sorted the next afternoon and were snug in our berth next to the 80’ classic maxi racing yacht Stormvogel.  Her Kiwi crew Ian and Francee have her looking as gorgeous as she was when she was featured in the motion picture Dead Calm.  After five months and nearly 2500 miles of zig-zagging our way around the central Med, we once again began the task of mothballing Moonshadow for the winter.

The Marina Cap Monastir

Monastir is a working town and thus has not been significantly impacted by tourism.  We arrived during the final week of Ramadan and the town was buzzing.  In and around the Medina or old walled section of the city, a bazaar had been set up with merchants selling all sort of things, but mostly clothing and home wares.  Just making our way around was difficult.

The town of Monastir

The bazaar set up in the Medina, Monastir

The Ribat (Fort) at Monastir

As a cruising destination, Tunisia didn’t appear on our radar screen till perhaps a year ago.  For cruisers looking for a place to winter over, it has a few distinct advantages.  First, despite the fact that it lies on the continent of Africa, it is situated less than 200 miles from Malta and Italian Islands of Sardinia and Sicily, so it is relatively close to the prime cruising grounds of the central Med.  Second, it is not a member of the European Union so it is easy to keep a non-EU vessel in Tunisia for up to a year.  Tunisia has fully embraced yachting and has numerous good, secure marina facilities along its coastline and it has not become hyperpriced like its European neighbors to the north.  A year in a Tunisian marina costs about the same as a month in one in one of the popular parts of Italy.  Given that we did not plan to stay aboard for the winter, we felt that Tunisia would be a more reasonable option for storing Moonshadow while we are away. 

We enjoyed a lovely beam reach across the Strait of Bonifacio from the French island of Corsica, arriving at the harbour of Santa Teresa di Gallura.  The anchorage was a bit exposed to the westerly breeze and swell, so we decided to head downwind a few miles in search of some better protection.  About an hour’s sail to the east, we rounded the rocky outcrop of Capo Testa and found a calm and uncrowded anchorage on its southwest side.  The crystal clear water and lack of powerboat traffic made it a great spot for a long snorkel along the rocky shoreline.  The day finished off perfectly with a stunning red sunset against the wild wind-shaped rock formations of the cape.

A quiet anchorage at Capo Testa

Sunset at Capo Testa

In light easterlies the next morning, we headed across to the north east corner of the island to Porto Cervo, one of the major developments along the Costa Smeralda.  I recalled visiting there in 1984 and participating in the Swan Rolex Cup when it was still a fairly well-kept secret.  At that time there were just a few small hotels, the Yacht Club Costa Smeralda, a small marina, and hardly any other boats than the fleet of sixty-odd Swans participating in the week-long regatta.  A lot has changed in 25 years!

The Costa Smeralda has become a playground for the rich and famous, and the game of choice yachting where size is everything..  The channels between Sardinia and the Maddelena Archipelago were in rush hour mode from sunrise to sunset.  The operative word here being “rush” as anyone with a power boat seemed to be in quite a hurry to get wherever they were headed.  We repeatedly witnessed 50-100 foot power boats tearing up the waterways at full throttle, passing so closely to other craft as to scare the daylights out of them, not to mention throwing up a wash large enough to roll Moonshadow on her beam ends as we quietly made our way along under sail.

We pulled into Porto Cervo and found that what used to be an anchorage was taken up by fixed moorings which can be had for just €100 per night, leaving just a small bit of space on the periphery for a few boats to anchor in shallow water on short rodes.  We anchored ok but became concerned that if we swung we might block access to the med-mooring area.  We shifted to another spot near the harbor entrance, anchored again and sat down to lunch.  While it was a great show watching all the boats coming and going, the incessant traffic and associated noise and wash became so irritating that we decided to leave.  We went just around the corner to a large and reasonably protected bay called Golfo Pero, where we found anchorage among the giga and mega yachts that could not fit into Porto Cervo, as well as hundreds of smaller boats of all shapes and sizes that had come out of a marina to enjoy a sunny day on the water.  The Costa Smeralda attracts lots of beautiful and a few strange looking yachts to its anchorages so the yacht watching was especially good even if there were too many fizzboats and jet-skis zipping around for our liking.

A lovely waterfront villa at Porto Cervo

Golfo Pero calmed nicely that night so we had a good sleep.  We took the dinghy into Porto Cervo the next morning and had a walk around the two developments.  We found a couple of good supermarkets and picked up a few provisions.  Porto Cervo has become an enclave of spectacular seaside villas and hotels blending into the landscape, and of course there are a plethora of trendy restaurants and high end boutiques selling every imaginable designer label to the elite clientele and wannabes.  The place was jammed with tourists and there was even a cheesy elephant train giving a guided tour of the area and somewhat cheapening the experience.   

We saw plenty of unique yachts in Italy, but a few, like this are just downright bizarre.  Baboon head come to mind?

After lunch we sailed south to Porto di Cugnana in a light easterly.  Along the way we passed close to both the 289 foot sailing yacht Maltese Falcon and the somewhat smaller Tatoosh lying on anchor with a few dozen other gigayachts along the Costa Smeralda.  We anchored south of the Marina di Portisco where went into the marina and had a lovely dinner ashore.  Late in the day, Maltese Falcon, a Perini Navi with a special rig, went for a little sail.  As she headed away under full sail with a slight heel, she looked a bit like the leaning tower of Pisa.

The spectacular yacht Maltese Falcon

The fizz boats zipping by from dawn to dusk were beginning to get on our nerves, so we continued south hoping to find some less crowded waters and more quiet anchorages.  We pulled into the large port city of Olbia where we were able to find a calm and relatively quiet anchorage very close to town.  If Olbia is not the most attractive town along the coast, it is user friendly to yachties and one can get to within 100 meters of a large supermarket with the dinghy, making it a great place to take on supplies and provisions.   The old town center is reasonably attractive and the main street has a nice array of shops, restaurants and cafes. 

After we had taken care of all our business in Olbia, we sailed out to a small and unassuming beach town called Golfo Aranci.  It is served by a couple ferries a day, but otherwise the anchorage is rather quiet and calm.  The local fishermen are courteous as they pass through the anchorage and there is a good beach landing for the dinghy.  They had an arts and music festival on so we enjoyed live music wafting in from town one evening and a night crafts market set up on the main street after a dinner ashore on another.

On one of our strolls in town, we found a tiny wine shop on a residential side street that specializes in Sardinian wines.  When we dropped in they were receiving a delivery from one of their suppliers.  While the driver was unloading cases of bottled wine, a small pump was transferring vino di tavola (table wine) from two large barrels on the truck bed into two large barrels inside the shop.  Some restaurants sell this as “house wine” and villagers bring in their own bottles or jugs and purchase table wine by the liter.  We found the bottled wine to be excellent value at €4-6 per bottle and have yet to find one we didn’t like.

The wine goes from here. . .

. . . to here.  The wine shop in Golfo Aranci

After chilling for a few days we sailed south to Porto Brandinghi, passing the spectacular piece of rock called Isola Tavolara.  It was a good overnight anchorage but a few rocks on the bottom made the chain grumble.  The further south we ventured, the less boat traffic and crowds we encountered, which was encouraging.

Isola Tavolara

Moving on the next day we had a beautiful light-air sail to Cala Cinepro about 30 miles down the coast and anchored in a small bay with a beautiful white sand beach and bottom. The coastal scenery along the way was spectacular.  The next morning before everyone arrived at the beach and the breeze came up we enjoyed a dip in the calm water.  The whole bay looked like a giant swimming pool and we could see the shadows of the boat and dinghy on the bottom.

A morning dip at Cala Cinepro

Refreshed from the morning swim, we motored in the calms along a spectacular piece of coastline to Isola dell’Olgiastra near the industrial town of Arbatax.  Olgiastra is a small cluster of cactus-covered rocks but provided sufficient protection from the southeast swell and gave us a commanding view of the rugged coastline to the north.

The coast of Sardinia

More coast of Sardinia

Morning at Isola dell’Olgiastra (forewater)

The next day we took another hitch south to Capo Ferrato, a rocky spit of land jutting out from a long run of straight coastline, which provides a bit of protection in a couple of small bights on its north and south sides.  We found a good spot in a rocky bay on the north side where, for the first time in ages, we were the only boat in the anchorage.  We decided to do some wash, chill out, do some snorkeling and spend a second night there but we had three other boats join us the second night.

We made our final leg down the east coast of Sardinia and rounded Capo Carbonara.  We headed north a mile or so and anchored in a large and well protected bay north of the marina adjacent to the village of Villasimius, where we enjoyed a calm evening.

It had been two months since Moonshadow had been into a marina so we were looking forward to tying up, washing down, plugging in and stepping off.  The next morning we went into the Marina del Sole in Cagliari, which at just €90 (including power and water) per night, seemed like a bargain.

The marina is a bit ramshackle, its surroundings are less than attractive and it is about a mile hike to the Cagliari town center.  The family who run it were very nice and helpful.  The water came out of the tap in a trickle so I had to use our own tank water in order to get enough pressure to wash down the boat.  When I later went to refill the tanks, I found that the deck fitting had nearly seized up from months of non-use.  Afterwards I had to leave the dock hose running for hours to top up the tanks.  The good news is that it wasn’t far to walk to get a bus to town and the marina had two old clapped out Fiats that they rent for €7 per hour (no paperwork and fuel included); a great idea for cruisers wanting to do a bit of sightseeing, shopping or organizing repairs.

The sport of kayak polo in the marina, Cagliari

We walked all the way into town that afternoon and had a look around the quaint old quarter with its narrow streets and classic old Italian buildings.  We found a traditional Sardinian restaurant where we returned for dinner.   We bought some tickets and caught a bus back to the marina.  One is meant to validate a ticket in the machine on the bus.  We were the only ones who attempted and the machine was turned off or broken.  Apparently the bus is free in Cagliari.

The ornate portici on the waterfront, Cagliari town

You never know where you might find an old America’s Cup boat laying around, like say in Cagliari?

The meal at Su Cumbidu that evening was quite an experience.  There was a set menu starting at €15 per person and increasing in €5 increments depending how hungry you are.  We were pretty hungry and went for the €25 menu which consisted of six courses (antipasti, salads, vegetables, soup, pasta, meat and desert) and included free-flow wine, bottled water, coffee and an after dinner drink.  The meal was excellent and more than we could eat.  After the huge dinner, Merima had a mirto, which is a Sardinian liqueur made from Myrtle leaves.  I had a fil di ferro (iron wire) which is a Sardinian fire-water similar to grappa.   We were told by an Italian that the name comes from the days when it was bootlegged and the locals would bury gourds full of it under ground to hide it from the feds.  The gourds had an attached wire sticking up so they could find it by running their hand over the ground.  The next morning we were so full from dinner we skipped breakfast!

The next day we took one of the marina cars for a couple hours and went out to the big Auchan supermarket by the Cagliari airport and did a big provisioning.  This was to be our last in Italy so we wanted to stock up on wine, cheese and other goodies that we were sure we would not be able to get in Tunisia.  As usual, driving in Italy is always an adventure as the traffic is chaotic and the signs are confusing, if not contradictory.

We spent our last morning in Cagliari exploring the Citadel and the old Castello district on foot.   The Citadel was quite impressive with its commanding views over Cagliari. 

The Citadel, Cagliari

North Sails is a purveyor of chic regatta wear in Italy

The old walled Castello district was one of the most impressive and nicely restored old towns that we had seen in Italy.  There were even a few interesting shops and art galleries open on the Sunday.  We stopped into the cafeteria on the top floor of the ten story La Rinascente department store for one last Italian pizza.  La Rinascente occupies an ornate old building on the waterfront of Cagliari and we enjoyed wandering through some of the departments and viewing some of the very stylish Italian clothing and wares.

Small cars like the classic Cinque Cento or “Bambina” (Fiat 500) are the only ones that can squeeze through the narrow streets of the Castello district of Cagliari

Sculpture on a school in the Castello district, Cagliari

We left Cagliari the next day and sailed down to the southwest corner of the island to an attractive and well-protected bay called Porto Malfatano, where we made Moonshadow ready for the passage to Tunisia.

At first light the next morning, we set sail to the Tunisian island of La Galite.

Arrivederci Italia!!

The town of Villefranche

Heading west from the Riviera of Italy, we had intended to stop in Monaco for a few days to see how the other tenth of 1% live.  A wicked swell was rolling in from the south to which both of the anchorages near town were exposed.  Monaco is reported to have the cheapest marina berths on the coast, but at €157 per night, it wasn’t really a bargain for us.  We carried on a few miles further westward into the large and protected bay of Villefranche where we swung on the hook with hundreds of other yachties enjoying the free anchorage.

As touted, Villefranche offered the best all around protection on the south coast of France, even if a bit of swell managed to refract and creep into the anchorage.  The old   town of Villefrance is absolutely delightful and the locals were most friendly.  We chilled out there for a few days, enjoying ambience and of course fresh baguettes, French wine and a lovely meal out ashore.  We even managed to snag a free WiFi signal near the small marina on the edge of town.  If the rich and famous enjoy the views from their spectacular villas dotting the steep hillsides surrounding the bay, we enjoyed the views the other way from down in the “cheap seats.”

The bay at Villefranche is crowded but large

Wanting to do the right thing with respect to French officialdom, the day after our arrival, we headed around the corner to Nice, a port of entry for France, and attempted to check in with Customs and Immigration.  The port of Nice is very cramped and busy and we could not find the Customs Quay.  We rang Customs on the phone and they said that they had no place for us to tie us up for check-in and that they would get back to us later by phone to make arrangements.  The port is so busy with ferries to Corsica and Sardinia that there are traffic lights at either end of the ferry basin that control other boating traffic when a ferry is docking or embarking.  Two hours later we were back on the hook in Villefranche with nothing to show for our diesel and efforts.  We never did hear back from the French authorities.  No good deed goes unpunished.

Colorful fishing boats moored in the port of Nice

Beautiful detailing on an apartment building, Nice

After a few days we decided to move west a few more miles to Antibes.  Along the way we passed the Nice Airport which is situated along the shore.  I counted a row 34 assorted private jets sitting on the tarmac to the east of the terminal, awaiting owners who were on holiday.

On our way to the anchorage we stopped to pick up some diesel in Port Vauban.  The attendant was most friendly and courteous and when we asked if he sold water, in a thick French accent, he replied:  “No, I don’t sell you water, I give you water.”  We topped up the tanks, filled the washer and flushed out the watermaker.

Port Vauban, Antibes

We anchored at Anse De La Salis, an open bay just to the south of town.  A southwesterly blow came up in the afternoon hitting peaks in the mid to high 20 knot range.   We were protected from the swell, but since we were out on a spit of land that ends at Cap d’Antibes, we were fully exposed to the breeze.  A lot of kids were out sailing Optimists and Hobie Cats when the wind piped up, causing total mayhem on the bay.  Cruising yachts were piling in to take refuge.  Two yachts already in the bay dragged anchor.  The kids in the small sailing dinghies were overpowered and some capsized.  They were unable to make any windward progress back toward the beach and a few panicked.  We heard a small boy close to us crying so we popped up to find him flailing.  I jumped in the dink, grabbed his painter, and towed him to his coach’s chase boat so he could get safely ashore.   Three small boys on a capsized Hobie Cat were unable right the boat, even with the advice of their coach in a nearby chase boat.  They drifted a half mile out to sea before finally getting it sorted.   One Optimist under tow capsized, righted itself then capsized again.  Most of the kids were pretty intrepid and handled it all pretty well. 

The beach at Antibes, chokker with sun worshippers

The SW’ly died out around sunset and we enjoyed sundowners a quiet dinner aboard.    Right around nightfall, a fresh NE’ly developed very quickly and within a half hour the anchorage was untenable with 1-2 meter swells crashing in.  We knew there was not going to be any chance of sleep in those conditions so immediately weighed anchor and headed 5 miles north to a better anchorage near the Port de St. Laurent Marina.  Protection was good but it got a bit rolly early in the morning with some refracted swell.  We returned to Anse De La Salis after breakfast where all was calm again, but found the anchorage was devoid of all but a few mega yachts that were not affected by the conditions.

Antibes is a yachting center for France and in the town one can find almost anything and everything for a boat, not to mention boutiques, specialty food and wine shops and way too many real estate agencies.  There are five marinas in and around Antibes and in my wanderings around town I found three well-stocked chandleries on the perimeter of Port Vauban, the largest and closest marina to town.  I was able to tick a half a dozen items off the “to get” list.  We also found numerous good supermarkets in town where we could pick up some provisions.

In Antibes there are even bollards along the road so that one can tie up their car

We began preparing to head slowly south to Africa via Corsica and Sardinia.  I split the task of cleaning Moonshadow’s bottom into two morning’s work and when I finished she was clean, smooth and fast again.  We spent the afternoon in town doing some last minute provisioning and returned that evening for a lovely French meal at an excellent little bistro in the old quarter.  

A beautiful carousel, Antibes

The following morning we headed around Cap d’Antibes into Golfe Juan and anchored off Port Mallet.  This put us in a good jump-off position for the trip to Corsica.

A nice little beach bach on the tip of Cap d’Antibes.

We were up at Oh-dark-hundred and set motor and sail for Corsica.  Winds were light, as forecast, for the first few hours.  Just after sunrise we were visited by a pod of dolphins  that had a play in our bow wave-a good omen for the start of our mini passage.  By late morning, an un-forecast nor-easterly breeze of 8-18 knots filled in and we had a fabulous day sailing with the wind just forward of the beam.  We were able to sail the rest of the way to Calvi on the north end of the island of Corsica, covering the 95 nautical miles between mainland France and Corsica in about 13 hours flat and arriving in time to celebrate a safe and swift passage with sundowners.  The bay at Calvi was exposed to the nor-easterly wind and swell so we took refuge for the night about three miles northeast of Calvi behind Punta Spano.

Dolphins playing in the bow wake, a good omen

Merima has a trick on the helm on the passage to Corsica

We moved over and anchored off the city of Calvi and went into town to look around.  The waterfront of the new town is dominated by the marina and is crowded with tourists and fancy French shops.  It is overlooked by the quaint old walled city where Columbus was born.  We found a small supermarket (open on a Sunday) where we picked up a few provisions before heading back to the boat. 

The old walled town of Calvi on the island of Corsica

The marina and waterfront, Calvi

The anchorage at Calvi was noisy and rolly, so we headed south down the rugged and rocky west coast of Corsica into the Golfe de Girolata and anchored near the town with the same name.  The bay is surrounded by beautiful red rock cliffs and is quite dramatic.  It was very busy in the late afternoon and early evening with recreational boaters but quieted down in the evening.  We stayed put the following day and made some repairs to the dinghy, doing some cleaning and relaxing in the afternoon heat while enjoying the beautiful surroundings.

The ruggedly beautiful west coast of Corsica

Bushes formed by the strong south winds, Girolata, Corsica

Heading south in rolly seas, we headed to the town of Ajaccio.  On the approach to town we saw what from seaward looked like a gated community on a large block of waterfront property.   As we drew closer, we discovered that it was just that-a gated community-of the deceased.  There, in the dead center of town, was a graveyard full of large mausoleum buildings, surrounded and overlooked by apartment buildings and other homes. 

We anchored just outside the marina in a calm area near the commercial port.  Ajaccio appears to be a rather uninspiring industrial or military town, so we did not bother going ashore to explore.  With not many protected anchorages on the west coast of Corsica, this one became a bit too cozy with other yachts for our liking so we headed out the following morning.

We motor-sailed forty miles down the coast to Baie du Figari, a long narrow inlet bordered by low land interspersed with bush and large granite boulders.  It looks more like a scene from the Arizona desert than a French island.  Anchoring was difficult on the weed bottom but after a few attempts we finally got safely hooked and the protection from the sea swell was good.  More boats came in and anchored too close in spite of the fact there was plenty of room in the anchorage further away from us.  It is as if the French yachties are moths attracted to the light of another boat!  We, personally, don’t want to be so close that we can hear another boat’s stereo/head pumping/burps and farts/arguments, etc.  I had to get up at 0400, start the engine and reverse a bit to move out of the way of a yacht that had anchored after us on a short rode when the wind shifted 180? during the night as it usually does here.  Arrrgh!

The next day we headed the short way south to the spectacular old town of Bonifacio, situated on an elevated spit of solid rock with white cliffs plunging down to the a long and narrow natural harbor on one side and the Strait of Bonifacio on the other.  Entering the harbour felt like navigating in the Grand Canyon with barley enough breadth for a good sized yacht to make a U-turn.  With boats going in and out in a rough queue, it felt like rush hour pandemonium on the water. 

Rush hour in the narrow harbor of Bonifacio

The berths along the quay were full but there were a couple of side tributaries where numerous yachts were anchored with stern lines taken to rocks, bollards or bushes ashore. There was some space and we briefly considered tying up for the night so we could explore the old city above.  As we motored in at well below the posted 5 knot speed limit due to the traffic, a large French day tripper boat came roaring in at 8-10 knots, throwing up a monstrous wake that was crashing off the steep sides of the channel and moored boats.  It was as if the skipper was insane, agro, or both, but he had a “get the hell out of my way or I’ll run you over” look on his face.  We thought the better of trying to tie up in Bonafacio so we hung a U-turn and headed back out to sea.

A tripper boat blasting through the harbor, Bonifacio

The stunning old town of Bonaficio perched on top of white cliffs

The Strait of Bonafacio separating Corsica and Sardinia is infamous to sailors for it’s funneling of the winds into gale force and churning up some wicked seas.  On that day we had a pleasant breeze from the east and enjoyed a nice sail ten miles across the Strait to Santa Teresa di Gallura at the northern tip of the Italian island of Sardinia.  The anchorage there was a bit lumpy, so we headed dead down wind a few miles to the beautiful and rocky Capo Testa where we found an excellent protected anchorage in its lee.

A view out over Byron’s Grotto and up the Ligurian Coast.

The mainland coast of Italy lying along the northern part of the Tyrhennian Sea offers the cruising sailor almost no real protected anchorages.  Anyone wishing to visit Rome must choose between an expensive marina or a dodgy tie-up in a working boat yard.  Having been to Rome in past years, we gave Rome a wide berth to starboard and carried on northward to the Tuscan Islands.

For most people, Tuscany conjures up images of rolling country hills dotted with villas and land-locked towns like Siena and Florence basking in the summer sun.  For the cruising sailor, The Tuscan Islands are their maritime counterpart, offering excellent cruising grounds, numerous protected anchorages, Tuscan cuisine and plenty to see and do.  All of this is situated just a few miles off the shores of mainland Italy and the French Island of Corsica.

We made a long day trip, motorsailing in light breezes and calm seas from the town of Anzio past the cloud of smog covering the city of Rome.  Passing Rome we had officially made the transition from the south to the north of Italy, and were looking forward the subtle differences in the food, wine and culture between the two.  We anchored in a large protected bight on the small, low-lying island of Giannutra, the southernmost of the Tuscans.  The bottom is steep to, so anchoring is in deep (20+ meters) water and very close to the shore.  Weed on the bottom added an element of uncertainty to our anchor’s ability to hold fast to the bottom.  We were fortunate that the weather remained calm for the evening so Moonshadow stayed put and just did a few circles around her anchor chain in the gentle shifty breezes during the night.

The following morning we carried on to the island of Elba.  Encouraged by a nice breeze from the west, we set the sails and cut the engine shortly after departing Gianunutra.  Within a few minutes the wind, probably a bit of leftover land breeze, was down below 5 knots and we were motorsailing again.  Along the way to our port side we could clearly see the Island of Montecristo, which was the ominous setting of Alexander Dumas’ classic novel The Count of Montecristo.  The island is a National Park and is unfortunately off limits to navigation and anchoring, and reportedly infested with adders.

A couple hours later to starboard we left the promontory called Punta Ala.  Anyone who has followed the past few America’s Cup regattas will recall the stylish Team Luna Rossa, sponsored by Prada’s Ernesto Bertelli that represented Yacht Club Punta Ala.  Team Luna Rossa won the Louis Vuitton Cup series which allowed them to challenge Team New Zealand in America’s Cup 2000.  If the Italians were second place finishers in their bid for the holy grail of yacht racing, they were certainly successful in stealing the hearts of many lovely young Auckland racer-chasers when they were in town.

We anchored in the huge and well-protected bay near the island’s main town of Portoferraio.  The town takes its name from the days when it was the loading port for iron (ferro in Italian) that was mined on the island.  It is also the place where Napoleon was exiled in 1814 after he abdicated as Emperor of France.

The waterfront in Portoferraio was bustling with tourists dining in its restaurants, perusing the shops and gawking at the megayachts lined up along the quay.  A block or two off the waterfront things were a bit more quiet and quaint, and much more to our liking.  We explored the historic old town for a few hours and made a few enquiries where we might get one of our LPG (cooking gas) cylinders refilled.  The answer was invariably the same:  “A few kilometers out of town in the Industrial Estate.”  We did find an excellent Coop Supermarket close to the water’s edge near the Esaom Cesa Marina and Boatworks where we would return later with the dinghy and do a major provisioning. 

The harbour, Portoferraio

A quick web search revealed that an outfit called LampoGas was the LPG supplier in town.  Merima rang up the company and the gentleman she spoke to kindly offered to come out and meet us at a nearby marina and look at our cylinder.  We met him on the dock and after inspecting our cylinder he informed us that nobody fills this type of cylinder in Italy anymore. After more conversation he became concerned that we would not have any gas to prepare meals.  Given the value Italians place on their food he apparently could not bear to think of this. He mentioned that even though Italy has its fair share of problems, one thing they are proud of is their food. More conversation ensued and he then said that maybe there was something he might be able to do.  By the time he left he assured us that he would be able to put at least some gas into the cylinder for us.  Off he went with our cylinder resting between his legs on the floor of his Vespa motor scooter.   We met him again on the dock the next day and to our delight, our tank was full.   We celebrated by having dinner out in town and not using any of our precious cooking gas.

We spent a few days chilling in Portoferraio while sitting out a strong southwesterly blow. Returning to town for some more exploring, we took a tour of Napoleon’s lovely hilltop villa overlooking the town to the south and the Ligurian Sea to the north.   He had pretty nice digs and we’re not quite sure why he left this exile in less than a year. 

The view from the ballroom of Napoleon’s villa

Napoleon slept here

Heading north again and back to mainland Italy we could see an imposing dark-colored mountain range plunging into the sea.  Some of the mountain sides had been disfigured and were scarred large white patches.  From the chart we worked out that we were abeam the Port of Carrara, near the famous Carrara marble quarries.  Carrara is considered to be the finest sculpturing marble in the world and was Michelangelo’s medium of choice.  He toiled long and hard to bring massive blocks of it down from the mountains so that he could shape them into timeless masterpieces.   

The marble quarries of Carrara

A few miles further north we found an excellent anchorage in the Bay of Portovenere, a small lobe of the Gulf of La Spezia (a.k.a. the Gulf of Poets).  During the day, there was a flurry of boats passing by on their way to and from the busy port of La Spezia, but at night it all went quiet and we were able to get a good night’s sleep.

Italian men love speedboats and Speedos.  This classic Donzi Cigarette boat was spotted in Portovenere.

The walled hillside town of Portovenere was one of the most picturesque that we have visited in Itlay.  The row of pastel-colored old homes along the waterfront are all from seven to nine stories high, but barely wide enough for one small room on each floor.  Behind the waterfront, the town ambles up the steep hillside to a castle overlooking over the area.

The waterfront homes of Portovenere

A home with some nice outdoor living, Portovenere

We spent the next morning exploring the narrow streets and steep stairways lined with quaint homes, delightful shops and restaurants.  From the promontory on the west end of town we could look down at Byron’s Grotto (named after the poet Lord Byron) and up the beautiful stretch of coastline that is a World Heritage Site known as Cinque Terre.  This is also the beginning of the coast that the Italians referred to when they coined the word “Riviera.”  On a beautiful clear day with calm seas, as it was for us, this area is absolutely sublime.

Looking down to Byron’s Grotto, Portovenere

Pasta is a very versatile food.  Here in Portovenere is used as a curtain.

Taking advantage of the calm and pleasant weather, we spent a few hours in the afternoon giving Moonshadow a much needed bubble bath.

With the weather still calm and clear, we made an early departure the next morning and took a slow cruise along the stunning coastline past the five villages of Cinque Terre: Riomaggiore, Manarola, Corniglia, Vernazza and Monterosso.  The small villages consist of clusters of pastel colored houses clinging to the steep hillside that has been terraced for cultivation.  Until fairly recently, the villages were only accessible by sea or by foot, keeping the villages somewhat isolated from the outside world.  Villagers survived on fish from the sea and crops they grew.  The Cinque Terre is now a UNESCO World Heritage listed site and the villages are connected by a rail line that runs through tunnels along the coast, popping out occasionally near the villages.

The village of Vernazza, Cinque Terre

The steep coastline of the Cinque Terre ends in the Golfo del Tigullio, where we had set our course to a small, but excellent natural harbor called Portofino.  The postcard-perfect town and its beautiful surroundings was discovered in the 1950’s and 60’s by authors and poets and soon became a playground/getaway for the rich and famous. Judging by the hefty fleet of mega and giga yachts swinging on their hooks in the deep water anchorage outside the tiny port, not much has changed.  Portofino is so small that there is only room for a dozen or so visiting yachts to tie up to the quay and fixed moorings.  The rest of the space is taken up by local boats moored closely fore and aft.  We found a good anchorage in a pleasantly uncrowded bight less than a mile to the north.

One of many exquisite gigayachts anchored that day in Portofino.  On board choppers are quite common but we really liked the portico aft for al-fresco waterfront lounging, dining or megayacht watching

Two iconic Italian classics gracing Portofino.  A Riva runabout and a Perini Navi megayacht

After lunch we went into town to have a look around and have an espresso at one of the water front cafes. At €10 for two short espressos, the tab was about five times what we had become accostomed to paying in Italy.  Just for grins, we enquired at the Portofino Yacht Club about tying up to the town quay for a night.  We fully expected that it was going to be expensive, but were absolutely blown away by the price tag of €1500.   One hour in Portofino would buy us four full days back home!  By comparison, a fixed mooring would have been bargain for us at only €420 (plus tax) per night which includes the additional charge of €75 for the mast!  We guessed that the Italians reckon with all the money sailboats save on fuel, they can afford to pay more for mooring than power boats.   If Portofino is outrageously expensive it is still one of the special places on the planet and delightful as ever.

The pricelist for fixed moorings in Portofino.  In the bottom part, Albero means mast.

Perhaps part of the exorbitant mooring fees go to support Portofino’s excellent outdoor arts program

The next morning was beautiful and clear so we headed into town early.  For a couple hours we had Portofino nearly to ourselves as all the tripper boats from Santa Margherita and tenders from the cruise ships had yet to arrive and release their herds of tourists.  We wandered around the town and along some of the shady paths meandering around the surrounding hillside.  On the spit of land heading out to the lighthouse we found ourselves amongst some spectacular villas with priceless views of the port and the sea.

We returned that evening for an excellent dinner in town at a quaint outdoor café near the piazza. The day trippers were gone and most of those remaining were lodging in expensive hotels or villas or on mega yachts, so the people-watching was exceptional.

Morning in Portofino

A lovely villa near Portofino 

The next day we departed Portofino, heading across the Gulf of Genova to the town of Alassio.  We anchored off the town in the large open bay where it was reasonably calm until a southerly swell came rolling in, waking us early in the morning.

We had planned to anchor near Monte Carlo the following day, but with the swell, the only comfortable place to park Moonshadow would have been in an expensive marina, jammed between two “high rise” mega yachts.  We carried on a few miles further west across the border into France and found better protection from the swell in the large and lovely bay of Villefranche.

This is about as close as we could afford to get to Monaco.

The south coast of Italy between Salerno and Reggio Calabria offers some great cruising for visiting yachts.  Most local boats skip this area when heading between the Aeolian Islands or Sicily and Naples.  The noticeable lack of tourism in the area means that the towns are friendlier, the people curious and overall it is less expensive than the Italian hot spots further north and south.

We arrived back on mainland Italy at the small town of Vibo Valentia and went into one of the two small marinas adjacent to the town.  The Marina Stella del Sud is a very convivial little place run by a Canadian-Italian family and caters mostly to local power boaters.   The first step off the floating pontoon is into a little café/bar where we saw replete with a book exchange!  Taking advantage of a rare visit to a marina, we spent two long days scrubbing, washing, shopping and making an attempt to catch up on the inexhaustible task of maintenance. 

Vibo Valentia is a quiet but very friendly little town that doesn’t appear on most tourists’ radar screen.  Everyone we came in contact with-marina staff, butcher, cell phone agent, grocer-was very warm and helpful.  After a major provisioning run, the local SISA supermarket even delivered our purchases (and us) right down to the boat-a huge bonus when shopping at a supermarket that is a mile’s walk from the marina and taxis are non-existent.  We had a sumptuous seafood dinner out at a family-run trattoria called Maria Rosa and the next evening, to-die-for pizzas at a place called Sapori di Mare.  Both restaurants had excellent service, good wines and very reasonable prices.

On our last day at Vibo Valentia, we cast off the lines from the marina and anchored in a calm area just outside the breakwater.  With clear water and no traffic, this seemed like a good spot to give Moonshadow’s bottom a much-needed cleaning.  We dropped into the water with brushes in hand and began to “mow the lawn,” only to be accosted soon after by giant jellyfish.  After repelling four advances, Merima had enough and got out of the water.  I took a direct hit on my right leg but carried on cleaning, encouraged only by the fact that the sting was not too painful.  These jellyfish, an impotent cousin to the Portuguese man-o-war and about a foot across, seemed to sense where we were and just kept charging like a bull towards a red cape.  I had to keep a constant eye out for them and kicked a few away with my fins while I was wiping, making an already unpleasant task nearly unbearable.  After a tank and a half of air, the job was finished and Moonshadow had a nice clean bum.

The next morning we headed north, finding a calm overnight anchorage outside the breakwater at the port of Cetraro.  From there, the coastline becomes much more dramatic and beautiful, with steep mountains plunging into the sea.   We pulled into the rather snug harbor of the quaint fishing village of Maratea hoping to find space on the town quay.  There was little space to tie up and even less in which we could maneuver.  Merima rang the Porto Turistico and we were quoted €90 for tie up in the marina, but for that night only.  The next day was the beginning of “high season” (July 1) and the rate would jump to €120.  We gave it a miss and went around the point and anchored in a nice little bay where we had lunch and took in the scenery.  Maratea is a very picturesque village nestled in the base of a gorge.  On the highest peak overlooking the area is a large statue of the Christ with outstretched arms, much like the one in Rio de Janeiro. 

It was at Maratea that we noticed the first of a network of watch towers built in ancient times, apparently to guard the coast.  These towers, usually about five to seven stories high and constructed of stone, stand on each promontory in direct line of sight of the next ones up and down the coast.  Some are in ruin, while others remain reasonably intact.  A few we saw had become the foundations for lovely elevated villas.  We would see these every half mile or so all the way to the end of the Amalfi Coast near the Isle of Capri.

After our lunch below a watchtower villa, we carried on to the town of Sapri and anchored in a large and well-protected bay off the town’s beach.  Sapri is a lovely little town where farm meets beach, and like Vibo, is friendly and relatively untouched by tourism.  We decided we would stop there and chill out for a few days.  In town we found an old fashioned ferramento (hardware store) with floor to ceiling shelves neatly stocked with a plethora of bits and pieces for home and boat.  We managed to find a few things on our “to get” list.  After, we wandered the narrow streets and were guided by a lovely old lady to the piazza  (town center), where we found an excellent supermarket and panetteria (bread shop).  While it is often imitated in other parts of the world, there is absolutely nothing like fresh-baked Italian bread.

A faint rainbow over the village of Sapri

A casual Italian style lunch on board

I had a last go at repairing our number two outboard, a small 3hp job that had been running intermittently since last season, with no joy.  Noticing a Yamaha shop just a few meters from our dinghy landing spot, I finally capitulated and took it in for professional repair.  In dealing with the shop owner, Merima added a few more words to her vast Italian vocabulary such as candela (spark plug), scintilla (spark), tasto (kill button) and carburatore (carburetor) while translating for me.  It was a successful venture and now our back-up outboard is once again running like a top.

Our next stop was a lovely little fishing village called Scario.  We were able to take reasonably protected anchorage outside of the marina and found a good dinghy landing on the beach outside the breakwater.  We wandered along the waterfront and back streets of the village admiring the lovely old stone buildings and found an exceptional grocery store where we picked up a few provisions.  On the way back to the boat, Merima came upon a hairdresser that could accommodate her on the spot for a haircut.  She and Gerardo the hairdresser, who was an Italian version of Richard Simmons became fast friends. When I picked her up an hour later, her face had a funny orange cast with a heavy application of green eyeliner and bright pink lipstick.  Thinking she was a victim of a toxic chemical spill but not wanting to embarrass her in the salon, I waited till we were outside and asked Merima what happened to her face.  With an embarrassed look, she told me Gerardo also fancied himself as a make-up artist, and insisted on giving her the full treatment before letting her leave the salon.  Needless to say I was not allowed to take photos.  Gerardo also recommended to us an excellent trattoria for dinner and invited us to stay with him if we ever returned to Scario without the boat. 

The friendly little village of Scario

That afternoon we experienced something that we hadn’t encountered for the past two and a half seasons-a gully washer of a thunderstorm.  The boat got a great wash down and we managed to catch enough fresh water to fill the tanks.  Of course we tried out the trattoria Gerardo had recommended and had a delicious dinner that evening. 

We continued north the next morning and found an excellent anchorage on the south side of Capo Palinuro.  This was a very popular spot with the locals and there were dozens of boats there by the time we arrived, enjoying a sunny Saturday afternoon.  By sunset all but a few were gone, no doubt back to the safety and security of their marina.  The boats were replaced with a large flock of very rowdy seagulls.  For awhile we were afraid they were rehearsing for a sequel to “The Birds.”  It was July 4^th, so we celebrated American Independence Day in style by 

 by grilling steaks and corn on the barbeque.

Fourth of July barbeque

We arrived the next day in the little town of Acciaroli and anchored in the lee of the harbor mole.  It was a Sunday and town was bustling.  Sun worshippers were on the beach and those with boats were heading out for a more private tanning session.    We decided to relax aboard for the afternoon and go into town the next morning.  We were lucky that Monday is market day in Acciaroli and the merchants had their stalls set up on the town quay.   We picked up a few fresh provisions and enjoyed perusing all the food and wares on offer.  The town seems to be in the process of waking up to tourism and is getting a significant dose of gentrification.  Along the main pedestrian-only street is an assortment of shops, cafes and a couple of rather trendy-looking upscale restaurants.  We stopped for an espresso and some people watching.  The anchorage became a bit rolly in the afternoon so we headed out in search of better protection.

Purple is popular in Acciaroli

Up the coast about 5nm we found good anchorage at Oligastro in between two very crowded mooring areas chock-full of small local boats.  An all-inclusive resort on the beach was crowded with holidaymakers and loud music blared from the speakers as they conducted aerobics classes and mambo lessons.  Fortunately it all quieted down in the evening and we had a peaceful night under a full moon.  

Enjoying the sun aboard a traditional boat, Oligastro

Full moon over the bay, Oligastro

We took a long hitch north the next day across the Golfo di Salerno to the legendary town of Amalfi.    With its magnificent villas, verdant terraced gardens, spectacular cathedrals and colorful village homes clinging to the precipitous mountainside, Amalfi is arguably one of the most picturesque seaside towns in Italy.  By then it was high season and the town was buzzing with hoards of tourists.  The beach was paved with people staked out under row after row of colorful umbrellas who had paid for the privilege.  Boats of all types and sizes from gigayachts to small dinghys were out on the water seeing and being seen, whipping the cove up into an unwieldy slop.  We bobbed around on the anchor for a few hours before we decided to find some place a bit more peaceful.  

Amalfi

A few miles up the coast towards Salerno sits the village of Cetara.  Not as picturesque as Amalfi, but certainly attractive, Cetara has a small harbor and we were able to anchor and get some protection from the swell and wakes refracting along the Amalfi Coast.  Cetara is in a “hurricane gap” so the afternoon breeze came down from the mountains at 20+ knots.   It must be a regular occurrence, as a swarm of windsurfers rocked up to take advantage of the strong breeze and flat water, making high speed reaches back and forth in front of the harbor and village and getting some pretty good air off of the waves.  We went in and had stroll around the quaint little town the following morning and found some nice little shops selling veggies and other foods.  What was once a quiet and forgotten little fishing village was now just another tourist hot spot along the famous Amalfi Coast.

Cetara with its ancient watchtower on the right

Later in the day we headed a few more miles west to the city of Salerno and took anchorage in the large open bay between the two ports.  Protection is not good from the south and west but we put on the flopper stopper and were reasonably comfortable.  We didn’t have much joy calling the marinas on the cell phone, so we took the dinghy in to visit them all one by one.  Finally, the last place we tried had space. The capo or boss of the marina was a very warm and friendly man and enjoyed conversing with Merima about our travels on Moonshadow.  She was able to negotiate a couple of days in the marina at a 20% discount, although it was still expensive.  We shifted into the marina the next morning and had a wash and cleanup day, and then went into town to have a look around and get a few provisions.  The capo recommended an excellent restaurant near the port where we had a great pizza dinner.

It seems that Italy has embraced recycling in a big way.  We have seen separate bins for recyclable rubbish in many places we have visited.  On the quay at the marina, they had bins for glass, paper, aluminum, plastic, organic and inorganic waste.  What they didn’t have was an everything bin.  While we have pretty good space on board, we don’t have facilities for separating six types of rubbish.  We had to carry our sack all the way into town to find a good old fashioned pre-rubbish-apartheid dumpster.

Salerno is a big town, busy, covered in graffiti and crowded with too many Singapore-type, non-descript apartment blocks.  Despite this we found the people very friendly and helpful and the old quarter near the port was quaint.  The pedestrian-only shopping street, Corso Vittorio Emanuele II, was lined with upscale shops and cafes and crowded with fashionable shoppers.

Our Auckland sailing friend Cecele arrived by train the next evening.  A pickpocket had pinched her cash and credit cards while she was in the queue for train tickets in Rome, so after a day filled with drama, she was ready for a glass of wine (or three) and a meal.  We headed straight into the old quarter to a traditional trattoria recommended by the marina capo.  Once again, he was spot-on and we had a wonderful meal which included a veal involtini, pasta con faggiole, pizza and a few other tasty dishes, washed down with some excellent local Calabrian wine.

During our stay in Salerno we were never able to pass the capo’s office without him stopping us and embracing us for at least five or ten minutes of friendly conversation. Before we left he insisted on coming down to the boat and giving us a warm arrivederci (goodbye).

We tossed off the lines and with hardly a breath of breeze cruised along the spectacular Amalfi Coast passing by Cetara and Amalfi and anchoring at the gorgeous village of Positano.  By the time we got to Positano there was a pretty good swell running.  Sitting on an open bay, Positano has no harbor or marina, and a beach landing was a bit dangerous.  After a couple hours of taking in the spectacle of megayachts, flash speedboats, sun worshippers and the stunning coastal landscape, we moved on hoping to find better protection from the swell. 

We headed a short distance to the Galli Islands, a small cluster of privately owned islands, and anchored in deep water behind an islet that was capped with an old lighthouse and a couple of spectacular villas.   It was reasonably comfortable but a fresh northerly breeze developed and blew at 20+ knots well into the evening.  When it finally died down it left a large and rather confused sea, bouncing Moonshadow around and ruining any hopes that the crew had of a good night’s sleep. 

The next morning we continued westward past the end of the Amalfi Coast and out to the celebrated Isle of Capri.   Capri is more or less a large hunk of rock jutting out of the sea with no natural harbors.  The residual swell from the previous night’s blow made the island’s unprotected anchorages untenable so we opted to take a scenic cruise along the north shore past the island’s two towns, Capri and Annacapri, and then out to the northwest corner of the island past the world famous Blue Grotto.  There was a queue of boats waiting to enter the grotto through its tiny opening, so we decided against swimming in as I had done fifteen years earlier after a long, liquid lunch at a ristorante perched on the cliff above.   In search of a more protected anchorage (read: a good night’s sleep) we headed north to the island of Procida.

We found reasonable protection in a large bay formed by the island of Procida and a large off-lying rock called Isola Vivara.  This is reportedly one of the favorite spots of Neopolitan boaties who flocked in as if it was the spot to see and be seen.  They came in all sorts of boats, big and small, power and sail, RIB’s and traditional fishing boats, to soak up the sun and socialize with friends on a sunny Sunday afternoon.  By mid-afternoon there were hundreds of craft swinging on their hooks, covered with bikini and Speedo clad bodies basking in the rays.  A few hours later they made a mass exodus as if someone had called out “gentlemen, start your engines!” By sunset we shared the anchorage with just one large cruising catamaran.  The water went calm, all went quiet and in its emptiness, the bay took on a new beauty.  We had a most pleasant evening. 

The next morning we headed across the channel to the island of Ischia and anchored off the main town bearing the same name.  We took the dinghy into the harbor and locked it to a small dock.  There were two other dinghies tied up there and no signs prohibiting tie up so we reckoned it was OK.  We had a wander around the town and even looked into putting Moonshadow into a marina for a night so we could all catch the ferry into Naples and visit Pompeii.  We were told that it would cost €280.  That’s nearly US $400 for one night-an offer we could refuse.  We picked up a few provisions and headed back to the dinghy.

On returning to the dinghy we were accosted by a rather dodgy-looking character.  He told us in Italian that we should never lock our dinghy to the dock as it makes them difficult to move.  “EX-ACTLY!” I thought to myself after Merima translated to me.  I asked her to tell him that the reason we do this is because we have lost one dinghy and two outboards to thieves over the years and Italy has a bad reputation for dinghy theft.  He then started asking her which of the yachts out at anchor was ours: “The blue one?  The 12m yacht?  Or the big one that just arrived this morning?”  Interestingly, the anchorage where we were was not even in view of the town.  Merima wisely dodged this question.  Not wanting to be victims of what looked like some sort of local Mafioso scam, we returned to Moonshadow and high-tailed it to another anchorage. 

On the east coast of Ischia we found a nice anchorage below an Aragonese castle perched on a large off-lying rock that had been connected to Ischia by a causeway.  It was a very picturesque little bay as well as being quiet and comfortable. 

Anchored below the castle, Ischia 

We awoke next morning to Cecele’s nightmare.  Her mother had passed away, and she would have to return home as quickly as possible.  We immediately headed for Naples and anchored near the Sanazzaro Marina, a couple of kliks from the city center.  The local ormeggiatore (tie up man) was very friendly and let us tie up the dinghy at their pontoon.  They provided us with directions to the train station and couldn’t have been more helpful. We spent the afternoon helping Cecele rearrange her return trip to Auckland.  That evening, with all the travel arrangements sorted, we could do nothing else but take her out to a Neopolitan seafood meal before her long trip home. 

The next morning we hopped a cab to the train station.  Naples is a big, dirty, in-your-face city, with graffiti everywhere, noisy traffic and motorists who drive like they are perpetually jockeying for the pole position in a Formula Once race. If you don’t, look you won’t be scared, I thought to myself. The most upsetting thing we saw were young children scrounging for food from garbage bins.  

We made it to the Naples Central Station in plenty of time and after a few questions were able to find Cecele’s train, car and seat.  We said our goodbyes.  Poor Cecele had more than 30 hours of travel in front of her after having her three week holiday cut down to about 3 days-not even enough time to get over jet-lag!

Merima and I caught a very efficient subway back to the station near Sanazzaro which was a short walk back to the dinghy.  Once aboard Moonshadow we picked up the hook and headed out to the Island of Procida and anchored off the old village at Calla di Coricella.  We spent the rest of the day relaxing, swimming and quietly decompressing from the events of the previous two days. 

The village of Procida is an example of seamless town planning

The next morning we went ashore to explore the charming old town of Procida, with its haphazardly arranged houses and narrow cobbled streets.  Dodging the cars and motorbikes whizzing about, we enjoying the unique sights and picked up a few fresh provisions in some quaint little shops along the way.

Rudder-gate

View of the castle from the quay, Procida

More light winds and calm seas meant more motoring.  This time to the island of Ponza in the Pontine Islands.  The Pontines are a chain of volcanic peaks jutting out of the surface of the sea.  Ponza is very rugged with lots of sheer white cliffs, offshore rocks, dramatic pinnacles and sea caves.  We anchored just outside of the main harbor hoping to avoid at least some of the noise and wakes from the incessant ferry and local boat traffic.  We found a small and reasonably protected cove below a cemetery just east of the town of Ponza.  The mausoleums on the edge of the cliff were large and ornate in typical Italian fashion, and we reckoned that the people in them are in much nicer digs than most of the living population of Italy.  We hopped into the dink and explored some of the caves and crevices on the nearby shoreline.  Some of the caves were clearly man-made, either for boat sheds or as part of a network of cisterns used to store and supply the island with water since ancient times.  Afterwards, we enjoyed a swim in the crystal clear water.

Mausoleums and caves on the isle of Ponza

As forecast, as gale blew from the west the following day and we were in a good place to weather it.  Although the winds moderated by sunset, we decided to give the seas a day to lie down before moving again.  We went into the town of Ponza and had a walk around.  This was high season and the waterfront, particularly near the ferry terminal was buzzing with people either starting or finishing their holiday. You could tell by the tans which were coming and which were going.  We were not really sure what all the fuss was about Ponza.  While the island itself is beautiful in a very stark sort of way, we found the town to be a bit lacking in character, very high priced and the local merchants seemed as if customers were merely a distraction from their afternoon nap, newspaper or mobile phone.  The harbor was jammed with boats on anchor or under way, and those on board must have felt as if they were in the paint can when it was on the mixer.

The harbor at Ponza town

A tall ship sails from Ponza.  Can you name all 42 sails?

The only protected anchorage along a 100nm stretch on the mainland coast was at the town of Anzio.  We made it there by mid-afternoon and saw a French yacht anchored calmly outside the harbor mole.   We approached the anchorage only to find that it was a bit too shallow for comfort.  The French yacht was a lovely Garcia, which has a lifting keel and rudders, and draws just one meter.  The owner kindly called out to us and offered us instructions on how to get around the sand bar.  We headed about a quarter of a mile away from the harbor, then shoreward, and then back to toward the harbor.  Oila!  We found a reasonably comfortable spot over a 4 meter sand bottom a few hundred meters off a lovely beach lined with large and impressive villas.

Anzio was buzzing with small sailing dinghies-Optimists, Lasers and a host of others.  After the afternoon siesta the locals returned to their boats and we found were surrounded by sails cris-crossing the waters between Anzio and Nettuno, another marina a mile further down the coast.   Merima recalled that the sailing scene was nothing like this ten years ago when she had lived in Italy.  Thanks to Prada and the America’s Cup, Italians have embraced sailing in a big way.

Even the young ”Opti” sailors take an afternoon siesta at Anzio

We headed into town to have a stroll and find a pizzeria for dinner.  Anzio’s town center is fairly modern, the ancient town having been bombed in WWII.  If the buildings are rather uninspiring, at least the streets are very wide and accommodating of the crowds of people out shopping, heading to their favorite place to eat or simply enjoying a passegiata (evening stroll).

Early the next morning, with a good weather forecast, we made a long dash up the coast past Rome toward the beautiful Tuscan Islands. 

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

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

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.