Hermione Does Italy.

Once we had crossed the sea border nothing appeared to change. That was until we landed at Marina Degli Aregai, just past Sanremo. All the writing, all the language was completely incomprehensible. Not like France where you could pick out a word or two.

We could be in trouble?

 No it's okay they all speak English. Fantastic!

So what differences? Well their emergency vehicle sirens, far from the nice serene French eee-aaaw sound, came as a shock. Somewhere between a hoarse yodeler and an excited ice cream van with a hint of Tarzan. Very much in regular use too.

Far be it from me to judge how peoples use their language but the humble peanut seems to give us a clue. In French they are called Caccahuetes and with a little work can be pronounced 'Caccahoots.' 

But the Italians? They call them  Arachidi Tostate which sounds like some kind of spider on steroids. How can we all be so different?

Hermy with her boarding plank out. Rescued / stolen from a skip by granddad and honed in to a very prestigious boarding plank with the help of Mr Edwards and son and grandson.

Aregai is a nice little seaside village. We cycled in to take a look around and have a beer and, very much to our liking, beer was served with a plate full of food.

Next morning it was a bus to Sanremo which was a bit of an experience. The very nice lady at the marina office said the bus stop was just up the hill on the main road. Well there was a main road with no pavement and no bus stop. So after a short marital squabble about which direction to walk,  I asserted myself and and made Mrs K walk about a kilometre and a half in the blistering heat without water we found a small, free standing, sign with a picture of a bus on it and I stood by it proudly.

Could this be it. An old guy came out of a garage and looked at me staring at the bus stop and just said "Sanremo" with that feint unsaid hint of 'dumb ass!' 

Thirty minutes later a bus arrived and on we got. It's amazing what can be said with no comment at all!

No problem err except there was a barrier between us and the seats leaving us in the entrance footwell. You had to feed coins in to a machine to get a ticket and get past the barrier. However it didn't like twenties. 

The driver just carried on leaving us bouncing around in the footwell trying to feed an obstinate machine with a bus load of onlookers. I thought this might lead to a pointed exchange between the driver and Mrs K but she may have had someone else in her sights? Finally we were on our way. 

Sanremo is very quaint with lovely narrow streets and a hint of scruffyness that makes charming. 

Nice lunch and an ice cream on the way back to the bus station. Everyone you see is eating ice cream. Oh and everyone has a dog or a child or both. On our return journey we decided to stay on the bus to see if we could spot where we should have got on. The bus duly stopped exactly where we had looked next to a post with an advert for a burger on it. Sort of where Mrs K had been indicating but we didn't dwell on that!

Next stop Loano, a bigger marina clearly geared up for the rich rather than the Southerly 115 owner. 

Still a pleasant little spot where, after sliding straight in to my berth, once we had made contact with the staff, I spent a happy five minutes watching a yacht, after two aborted attempts, enter her berth sideways. I was just happy not to be alone. 

Loano is again slightly scruffy with a pleasantly long and shaded shopping street behind the front. After ambling along it we decided to wander back to look at the shops on the front only to find that they were the same shops but with entrances on both streets. A bit of a swizz in my book.

Hurrying along our next stop was Savona. You see we have to be in Pisa to meet crew.

Savona was a bit of a gem. It has medieval things all over the place particularly a lovely Genoese castle.

Built not to protect the town but to suppress it. Apparently the Savonese still haven't forgiven the Genoese for this, so the harbour master told us. Best not mention we stopped here when we get to Genoa. 

Drawing a similarity with the French of course the castle museum was closed because it was Thursday!

The Cathedral Di Nostra Signora Assunta was one of the more ornate cathedrals we have popped in to and by now that is quite a few. 

We kept seeing signs for the Sistene Chappel which was confusing me as my limited knowledge lead me to believe that this should be in Rome or at least Florence. We eventually found out that there are in fact two, one in Savona and one in Rome. The Savona one is a 'must see' attraction but not on a bloody weekday as it only opens Saturday and Sunday!

To save forty Euros in mooring fees we decide to anchor off a small beach just outside Savona the night before our sail to Genoa.

No one else over-nighting? We remained alone overnight having a slightly uncomfortable rock but nothing too bad. The next morning was cooler but with only a slight swell as we set off to cover the twenty odd miles to Genoa. All was well for the first 14 miles but we noticed the wave height was rising as was the wind speed from dead ahead. "It'll be fine it should die down soon. The forecast said gusts of up to 9 miles an hour and wave heights of up to half a metre."

Well the worst conditions we have experienced in the Med. Life jackets out, Hermy crashing through short two metre waves, spray everywhere, CDs all over the place. Main sheet  parted, anchor banging about. Mrs K not to happy with forecasters, (Or those reading the forecast!)

I have referred myself to the Independent Husbands Complaints Commission.

We got in to Genoa safely. All's well that ends well?

Genoa old harbour safe and sound!

Hermione has done France!

Beaulieu, or more correctly, 'Bow lee oh' is a pretty marina lined with shops and restaurants and a good supply of food outlets and a supermarket a short walk up in to the village. Best of all is it's mountainous backdrop.

From here it was an easy bus ride to both Nice and Monaco. Nice, the capital of the Riviera was vibrant and busy. On the bus ride there I noticed Mrs K take a sudden look to the right as we passed out of Beaulieu. It was like a sixth sense. I only just saw it. It was some kind of garden come DIY shop and it clearly called to her. Cushions!

Nice stretching out towards Promanade Anglais.  It answered a question that had been niggling at me for some time. (Or rather Mr Heikell did) I had seen a number of streets named after a guy called Tobias Smollett and apparently it was here that this mad Englishman took to bathing in the sea daily much to the amusement of the locals back in 1663. A real forward thinker! 

We had been enjoying internet access on the boat through our 'Free' sim card in our hotspot phone but this had now run out. We had identified a shop in Nice to try and get another one but alas it was closed. En vacance!

Another hot day made slightly worse by the fruitless search then a frantic hike looking for a bus stop to take us back only to discover they operate on a circuit and we could get on where we got off.

Next stop and perhaps one of the highlights for me was Monaco. The rich persons Jewel. Mrs K made me wash and shave and wear a (or the) stain free shirt again to go to the principality.

I was particularly looking forward to visiting the Oceanographic museum. Prince Albert 1st of Monaco was a pioneer of Oceanographic research.

Well it had to be yellow didn't it? And was more from Mr Cousteau's time here as curator. but nevertheless a fab tour in lovely surroundings.

And suitably dramatic conditions to go with it. After a surprisingly cheap lunch we went in to the cathedral to pay our respects to Grace Kelly who was married here and rests here. Then we popped in to the Palace to see if we could get a glimpse of Prince Rainier 111. A bit of a keen sailor who I am sure would have been happy to swap bodged up berthing stories but unfortunately he wasn't around. Affairs of state you know!

After a lovely walk around the cliff gardens we headed back to the bus stop and back to Beaulieu. 

The weather was a bit lumpy and we had to make a decision about leaving. But we also had to visit the strange shop sighted by Mrs K. A trip up the hill to stock up and to resume the search. Would you believe it?

The search is over. France provided!

Next stop Italy. What on earth will that be like?

Crossing the French Italian border at sea. A full ceremonial changing of courtesy flags.

That's it Hermione has done France after 1,320 nautical miles from Gillingham marina to the Italian border. 

Well done France. Lovely country!

Homme Au Mouton

From the port of Golfe Juan we caught a bus to Cannes (1.5 Euros), another place with monster yachts and pretty beaches. It was a very hot day and strolling around was a struggle. We skirted around the Cannes film festival building and took in the imprints of some famous hands.

With some not so famous feet!

We made it to the castle overlooking the harbour and tried to enter the museum  by the exit. We were ushered out by a security guard.  " Dumb English can't you see it says museum entrance 35 metres, that means around the corner." We didn't bother and rolled back down the hill for a beer and a very nice lunch.

After a brief cushion hunt, mainly to enjoy air conditioning, and a half hearted attempt to find a Free phone shop to extend our internet thingy, we caught the bus back to Hermy.

We like this port so we decided to stay another couple of days. As a result the capitainarie lady gave us a bag of goodies, mainly aimed at conservation but the thing that caught our eye was the discount card. After a day of chores we went for a shop and a post office hunt in the village.

Mrs K was still thinking cushions and the French shop Le Clercs was looking like the answer. Mrs K likes a Le Clercs and she was taken in by a French sign that said "Le Clercs 3 minutes away." I tried to say that was by car with Lewis Hamilton driving but this fell on deaf ears. It's on the way to Vallauris where we want to go anyway. So in the searing, blistering heat we set off up a steep incline with narrow pavements and speeding cars. 

After about two miles we arrive at Vallauris. But no Le Clercs.

We stopped to refuel at a patisserie. 

"Look we have made it to Vallauris, we know we want to visit the Picasso museum and we have a discount card giving us free entry. With all that going for us and it being Monday what were the chances of it being open?"

Bloody hell its open!

What started as not promising turned out great.

You can't quite help wondering about the conversation between the great man and the Mayor when he gave this to the town. 

" I have made a sculpture for the town I have come to love." 

"Great, is it Napoleon's great return to France after his exile on Elba landing at Golfe Juan?"

"Is it the allied landings in the Mediterranean freeing France from the tyranny of Nazism?"

"Does it represent the traditional potteries of Vallauris?"

"No it's a man carrying a sheep!"

Spurred on the following day we visited Antibes, another ancient port on this coast this time by train as it is only two stops up. After a brief argument with the station officer, who wouldn't accept that I was under sixty, we boarded the train, a return ticket for two, seven Euros and would have been less but for my vanity. 

Antibes is one of those places that seems to have something else. Very picturesque with lots going on. At this juncture I should point out that whilst I have a pop at Mrs K for searching out particular items for use on the boat I have been after an implement to remove fish bones for some time particularly since we are eating more fish here. 

At Antibes we found ourselves in a kitchen shop looking around when Mrs K took the bull by the horns and asked the shop keeper if he had one. Astonishingly he did and produced it from behind the counter as if highly sort after and in need of protection from thieves. We purchased it and I left the shop very pleased. 

It was at this moment that I  realised that Antibes seems to have a large number of English speaking visitors, as on leaving, I announced, perhaps too loudly, that I was very pleased that after all this time I had finally got a boner!

The old town, the market, the church tower, the castle, the beaches and the old harbour were lovely. I visited the small but good archaeological museum and Mrs K did the Picasso museum. 

Lots of shops with lots of cushions but none quite right. 

We left Golfe Juan marina in a happy mood, a really good marina and lovely staff. 

En route I popped below to check things and do the log when I became aware of Mrs K talking to someone. Looking out of the companion way I could see her chatting merrily over the side. I thought poor girl, it must have been the cushions. But then someone replied! what the hell? 

I jumped up on deck to see a large RIB alongside with about six brigands aboard. They were making strange hand gestures and were not making much sense? Were we in a minefield? were we about to strike rocks? Was the boat on fire?  

No they wanted a corkscrew. 

Strangely relieved I tossed them my nice 7 euro corkscrew at which they turned and sped off. Bloody pirates stole my corkscrew!

Perhaps the Antibes kitchen shop owner had a point!

A night at anchor at Cap Farret. A swim and a chat with the English skipper and crew of 'Minimum', then in to Beaulieu Sur Mer, Surprisingly no motor museum and judging by the lack of response to my radio calls not pronounced in the same manner as the Hampshire village. Still a lovely place with, again, fantastic Capitainerie staff and, despite its position between Nice and Monaco, very reasonably priced.

It'll all settle down in a bit!

As you travel along the Cote D'Azur your eyes are drawn to towns that you have never heard of in the hope that they will be cheaper to stay in. Frejus rather than Saint Raphael was just one of those towns. 'Never heard of it, let's go there.'

 Just happens to be one of the oldest towns on this coast. Admittedly the old port was now a mile inland but we all begin to silt up after a while.

You can walk to Saint Raphael from the new port and you can walk from the new port to the old town of Frejus. We did both to earn our food and wine. Frejus has quite a bit of its Roman and later fortifications lying around. 

Apparently Napolean landed here after his Egyptian adventure. Quite a place not to have heard of.

Lovely little streets.

We had a pleasant wander around and eventually came to the square with an ancient church.

We strolled in and had a look around. Mrs K left to take a call from Daughter and I ambled out and had a look about the place. There was a sign that said Archaeological museum of Frejus 35 metres up the hill. I like to take a peek at old bits of pottery and jewellery that was painstakingly made by hand in a time when there was no telly. To consider that these objects adorned kitchens or were worn by people 2000 years ago does something for me.

Mrs K much prefers shops with things she can wear or adorn her kitchen with but she often humours me. Now I know my legs are short but we marched up the hill about 35 steps in my book and entered what could only be the entrance. We paid six Euros each and entered a pretty but empty cloister to the church. Where the hell were all the old bits. After a bit of a fruitless search we left. A further sign showed that my paces were a bit short and the entrance to the museum was round the corner. Only 2 Euros to enter. But of course it was Monday and it was closed.

After Frejus, which wasn't cheap, we made for Agay a small inlet that has mooring bouys in order to protect the sea grasses from anchor ploughing. We arrived a little early as there was no space due to day trippers but after a while a bouy became free and we picked it up.

Every now and again a strange hush falls over Mrs K and it is incumbent upon myself, firstly to establish the cause and then to seek a remedy, particularly if I am the cause. Now in this instance it was unclear. Here we were at a mooring costing only 20 euros a night, it was hot but swimming was available and we had plenty of food on board. That was most bases covered I thought.

 I was at a bit of a loss so I ventured the, sometimes dangerous, question, " Are you alright dear?"

 " No I'm bloody not." 

Now the mooring was slightly lumpy and in a strange sort of sideways on way. Waves usually come from the direction of the wind but in this instance they were coming from seaward and the boat was pointing at 90 degrees. Could this be my fault? Mrs K seemed to be pinning it on me but couldn't quite put her finger on why.

" It'll die down soon." I said reassuringly.

Everything settles down in the evenings.

We had a lumpy swim, followed by a lumpy shower, followed by a lumpy tea. " It'll settle down in a bit."

We rocked all night. The sort of rocking that is just beyond settling, That stops you from sleeping on your side, That's like being just tipped in to a roll before being righted. I didn't venture any further reassurance.

Morning told me that this natural phenomenon may have begun as no one's fault but  it was now entirely mine.

Should we move on dear?

Yes, the look said it all, we slipped and left.

Anchored for lunch besides a Cistercian Monastery, Apparently St Patrick was here for nine years before he sorted out the Irish.

Then in to Port Golfe Juan, the best kept secret on the Cote D'Azur, between Cannes and Antibes and only 30 Euros a night. Oh and not a bit of rocking. All has settled down.

The Way to St Tropez.

After giving number one son the tour of the Iles D'Hyeres, (not the nudist one) it was number one daughters turn and we met her at Marseille airport. Didn't take her long to fit in as crew. Dropped son off and set off to Port  Cros. Pretty little port on the island of the same name where we had to pick up mooring bouys. Just like Queenborough, well that was the only thing about it like Queenborough except the three attempts to pick up the bouy.

Had to get the new tender out to get ashore.

Daughter totally at home, all at sea.

Another lovely stop at Porquerolles island for lunch and a swim.

If you look closely you can just make out mother and daughter making for the beach on one of their epic swims. I did manage a circumnavigation of the boat myself after a ten minute ooh! aah! entry in to surprisingly cold water.

Then on to Porquerolles Marina again, this time, although I got told off for not listening to where my berth was, I made a faultless forwards entry in to it. In my defence I was listening but in the wrong language.

Do you sometimes get that feeling you may not be required on certain trips?

 "The water tanks need filling and while you have the hose out the decks need a good scrub. Oh and the bilge around the holding tank needs a clean and you said you would check all the sea cocks again." Jess and I will go and take a quick look at the shops to keep out of your way. 

What a thoughtful wife!

Getting out of the berth wasn't so easy. If you go in backwards you can use your thruster to straighten you out in a crosswind but we had to revert to the long line ashore being slipped carefully by daughter while being kept straight on the main engine, a masterpiece of rope work by daughter.

As the cost of marinas is rising the further East you go we decided to anchor off Hyeres for a night which seemed like a good idea but there was a certain lumpyness to begin with although it settled down to what turned out to be a very comfortable night made so much nicer by the knowledge that it was costing us nothing.

In to Hyeres Marina where, during tying up with the very nice harbour team, daughters rope work  

took a slip as she carefully threw the port dock line at the very nice young man, who catches all of it, including both ends. 

Drop daughter at Hyeres station for the homeward journey to Blighty and go on to visit Hyeres (hide from the pirates) old town on the hill. Very pleasant and worth the walk.

Next stop Cavaliers. En route we were subjected to thunder and lightning and rained on. Not what was expected.

Cavaliare is a nice spot with more life than expected. The following day we sail in to St Tropez, -- on the bus! Well it was three Euros to bus it and when we got there the St Tropez Capitainerie had a notice on the outside that said if you can answer any of the following questions with a yes or a maybe then don't bother asking to berth your boat here.

1. Do you know where your own oil filter is?

2. Are any of your crew unpaid?

3. Have you ever anchored to save money?

4. Is your home port up a muddy river?

5. Have you ever spilt food on yourself?

Well I wasn't even sure I would be allowed in but Mrs K had made me shave and put a proper shirt on and we had a lovely visit. They even had a Citadel whose sole purpose seemed to be attacking the village it was meant to be defending.

I was interested to find out that St Tropez got its name from a strange incident in AD 68. Apparently a Roman officer called Torpes got himself converted to Christianity after listening to St Paul and when asked by Emperor Nero to renounce his faith, he refused. Nero, after considering pre-sentence reports, lopped his head off and, strangely, he, and his head, were placed in a boat together with a cock and a dog and set adrift from Pisa. He washed up at St Tropez, or, 'port I wonder what we should call ourselves' at the time. So, conveniently, they adopted the saints name.

Luckily he didn't wash up in Yorkshire or there would be a seaside resort called Port Chicken Dog now.

Safely back to Cavalaire and nod off to three competing Karaoke bars. Heaven!

Forwards is better than backwards.

Now that Mrs K has retired I was hoping to see a calming down in the obsessive shopping department and overall this has been the case. She successfully fought off a raging desire to replace our 'brighter than the sun' umbrella when we discovered a chaffing hole in it at Corbieres but I have started to notice a strong desire to add to our rather large collection of cushions. 

This is motivated by a 'should we have guests' concept. Oh and of course they have to be blue and white to match and provide seating as well as a back rest, at least 2 inches of padding too. I am detecting that much more of my time is being spent wandering around Bricolages and Monoprix shops. Of course non can meet Mrs K's stringent requirements.

Anyway we left Sanary Sur Mer after a bit of a blow but anticipating an even greater blow, so getting to Toulon sharpish was a good idea. We had a lovely sail downwind from Embiez to Toulon with a bit of wallowing going on. 

By the time we entered the inner Rade at Toulon it was blowing a bit of a crosswind and my first attempt at stern to in the Darse  Vieux  had to be aborted. The second attempt got us in but more sideways rather than stern too. 

Two nice people took our lines but as I was making for the laid mooring rope with the hook I heard the gentleman shouting 'Avast Avast' I took this as some kind of Toulon pirate speak so was just about to ignore it when he shouted more clearly 'Advance'. Shit we were going to hit the dock. I leapt back to the cockpit and just averted  a stern bump.

Perhaps we could do with more cushions!

Toulon is a busy port town with that, Portsmouth, Chatham feel about it but with sunshine. It is surrounded by nice hills that are an immediate reminder of  Napolean's artilliary campaign in 1793 to liberate the town when he and his mates turfed out the British and the Spanish together with half the population of Toulon.

Collected number one son as Crew for the week.

After Toulon, and a bit of a Mistral, we made our way to the lovely island of Porquerolles with its pretty harbour and bays and anchored in Plage De La Courtade  for the night.

Anchor set, nice swim, shower, meal, bit of TV, ready for bed. Smashing. Went outside to take down the solar shower when a French ketch draws next to us, or at least near to us. I give him the British, 'I hope you're not thinking about parking there mate' stare, which was slightly lost in the return stare that said' Are vous really wearing stripy pyjamas?'

Anyway he went and dropped his anchor in the traditional 'drop it and pile the chain on top' fashion and went below. Twat.

We kept inspecting our closeness and eventually he came back up. " I think we might be a little close?" I said in my poshest voice with no hint of French. He asked how much chain we had out (Annoyingly in English) and I told him 30 metres too which he replied "Pah" and went below in a 'what's the problem' kind of way.' Well I was perturbed. Didn't he realise that I was an underwater ploughing champion? I have dragged more yachts around anchorages than he had had hot dinners. 

That's it, we are moving. So with fully pyjamared crew, we picked up the anchor and moved to a very nearby, empty Mediterranean sea in a most huffy way.

Next stop Porquerolles Marina where a very nice man meets us in a dinghy and explains where to go.

 A tight stern to spot which was going swimmingly until we caught our keel on our neighbours tailed mooring line. The very helpful Swiss neighbour helps us clear it, without the slightest hint of 'you incompetent twit' at all and we enter the spot bows to. 

At the capitainary they asked what berth we had taken and he seemed a little confused when I said the stern is in 22 but the bows are in 21. Still bows to does seem to be the answer, Hermy prefers forwards and it is easier to get on and off. Crew weren't having it but Captain says.

Porquerolles castle, the commander, with whom, in 1793, I can relate. No one told him about the British being kicked out of Toulon, or indeed that the Brits and the Spanish had entered and destroyed the French Navy. No one said that the republic had fought a hard and damaging campaign to rid France of the foreign invaders. So why shouldn't he go aboard  the anchored British commander's flag ship for a couple of snorts of vino, while the British Marines took and ransacked his fort?

We leave Porquerolles in a more dignified fashion, mainly because everyone else had gone too, and make for the unpronounceable Hyeres via a lovely bay for lunch.

Mrs K keeping everything spic 'n' span!

We enter Hyeres to a lovely reception, we are shown to our berth by the staff and are helped to tie up, so much so that I comment on their service. The lad says it's out of season so not much going on. 

Well that is out of season for yachts arriving, we find out it's very much in season for milking poor old boat owners with a 58 euro a night price tag.

Still the' interdit' fishing was good, whatever that means?